You sitting there, on the balcony
Drinking your gin
Blowing smoke
Is that what you want?
Even if the sky has vivid colours
Your ashen mind can't let you feel bliss
I don't know what you thinking tonight
But do not make any compromises
The moon is bright
But still, you can see nothing clearly
Your walking is timid and shy
What is that you need?
i waited for you to get out of the wreck car
to slam the spiked doors of insomnia
and then to step in the puddles of dirty stars
with drops of silver silence spilling out
don’t dare to walk soft through those
buildings of warm milk
because streets don’t sleep
they always sing to the rhythm of songbirds;
and then, shout it to the deep windows
and pray for the nights that pass
Forsaken--like love lost. Something about it regards things cast away or things we hold on dearly. It is the climax--the freeze frame in the heist of a burglary. The moment when all could be lost forever.
Love exists when two souls collide,
After eternity vanishes with the crashing tides.
And as soon as the lovers encounter the perfect ride,
The other falls down; death finishes grips on its neck.
L'amour.
At 1:14 in the morning, We breathe a different air.
I begin to remember the words you said.
How you said you stopped loving me and you wish you were dead.
I had to abide by the rules you placed,
But all I wish is for my existence to be erased.
1886: Dijjin "dysfunctional,
timelines with him has morphed
over to us but we're not like that
we never were" the acomist crucial
weather soigne coalescent
but this is a vellichor wallflower
ostranenie manque espoir
in sanitarian but how will you
find God if you won't believe
vagary despite codicil
and devastation although perhaps
we are in cafe Terrace
at the night (latte's) then
the bedroom with pastries
almond/caramel recovery
tomb rifles always a
sequence to justification distant
because the ghosts are worthy redrew
semaphore by avenue
historical elegance never
seen, for example the
documentation rotate;
"I am acid precipitation
never aerobic" anticodon
tertulias/regiment -
panopticon autumn
- G
She was so hung up on the moon
that she forgot it disappeared sometimes
and every time they would remind her
to which she would reply
"he's still there
quiet but aware
and i'm still here
waiting, unafraid"
but young one
do you not see the light?
the ever glow of the morn
that causes you to stir
and awaken from your slumber
that shines on you
that you may live one more day
the moon may define the day with its orbit
but it can never be called the day
without the sun
It's three in the morning
The mourning hour
The hour where naught is awake but
Lovers and dreamers
And those deemed too far gone by the rest of us
To which we send a wilting flower.
It's three in the morning
The mourning hour
And I sit upon a lush coven of cotton and broken dreams
And peer into the crisp, aging pages of a crisp, aging story
To dissolve away the alms that haunt my hollow tower.
It's three in the morning
The mourning hour
And I mourn
I mourn the loss of love
And the loss of hope
I mourn a loss I have known so well
As well as a loss I have never myself felt
Tied, side by side, in a waking melancholy sour.
It's three in the morning
The mourning hour
And doves less mournful than I have passed on to sleep
And he, as I dream, is far away and dead to me
Still dear to me
And I reach out, into the darkness of the night
And end the mourning hour.