I wish I could write something That pierced the wool Pulled over your eyes. Your depression, your nihilism; The things keeping you coupled To the miserable lense of your life. Cause there are so many things, That are just perspective. And everything else, We could work through together. I fear you can't imagine, what It would be like, to improve. Walk the world afresh, renewed. Just so long as you're comfortable, It doesn't matter if you're happy. We could be something wonderful, But you can't see. That's the real tragedy
I remember reading somewhere that one thorn can be used to extract or take out another thorn which has pierced the skin and body of a person so the pain experienced for a while does worsen and only after it has been taken out is heard a sigh of relief regardless of the method used to come by. ____
It's about time to move on when the traffic lights turned green, It's about time to know what the word "change" actually mean It's about time to let those sad songs play out of the playlist It's about time to let the roses bloom without a lover's kiss.
Yes, it's time
It's about time to look at yourself at the mirror long enough, To keep yourself away from staring at someone else's photograph.
It's a note to myself. To stop fron hoping from a one sided love.
Your soft words sink me in ten directions my soul comes pouring out of a broken hull this is not a fairytale unicorns and rainbows happy endings no yours is a verse for forgiveness piercing unwelcome cold as nuclear winter bright as nuclear day a quiet explosion in technicolor tragedy my ears shatter nerve endings free-fall vividly ablaze cherished moments fuse as one, ten trillion endings per second i flinch under the gravity of the situation, a black hole lodges in my chest never to leave again sparkle and fade no light escapes sparkle and fade this twisted love this stardust field abandoned unwanted betrayed.
I miss how we were the only ones alike. We were the only two of that caliber, and you knew it. Electricity flew between your lips and mine. We were beautiful. I miss how our voices pierced the heavy silence around us, and tangled up with one another. I miss how we preformed for no more than one another. I miss how your melodies kissed my face as they glided about our space. I miss our shared breath. I miss my voice moving in perfect time with yours; curving up to meet your highs, and dipping down to brush against your lows. I miss the way you would look at me when I took control and owned the song-- with that sly, crooked grin. The accidental physical touch The longing when our time ran out The lingering of your voice, and that crystal gaze burning into my core The teasing and the backhanded compliments Never too sure of what's work and what's play But I'm sure of this: There is a certain intimacy that comes with throwing your heart and soul into the void, and hoping it doesn't fall flat. There's an even deeper intimacy that follows when you meet another voice, and you move and reach and swell and growl and throw everything you have into that one note. Because without passion, we are dead.