Everyone started to feel like they came back to life now. Everyone begs for a kiss Everyone begs for more time While I wanted to burn inside.
And all the girls have their heads in their lost dreams. I want to be ****** not to get involved. They have forgotten how love hurts. It seems they are not afraid of the smell of love. I do not want to inhale the scent, the last time I did it completely destroyed me.
I'm going to smoke cigarettes. I'm going to shake my head. I put the red lipstick on. I will drink . I'll get the best outfit. I dance the love songs.
But I will not talk about emotions here. Because it seems like everyone wants to romanticize broken hearts.
Dreamers like his strong scent. But it is not the smell of broken hearts, it is not the smell of summer on our skin, it is not the smell of flowers springing in the spring, nor of innocence. It's the smell of love. Love is in the air In the land of cold hearts. In a place of empty hearts and vibrations of misunderstood beings. The smell of love still seems to be in the air. It spreads as fast as if it were disease. So I'm going to get ****** so I do not get it. It spreads so fast and gives false euphoria. In the end, it disappears. We were disappointed after that.
We with unhealed wounds can not be involved in this communion of dreams and fantasies.
For some love is the only reason they exist.
Everyone seems poisoned by love. Because it will satisfy their unreal needs ... But knowing that it toxic and disappointment is unlimited. And when the pain comes , nobody wants to get involved.
Do not use drugs . Do not use love.
It seems to be metaphor for little poetry. But it is the nostalogy of love not understood.
I saw the sun steep into the seascape ― lonely as a drowning wave on still-waters
the dimming of the day rescinding evanescent daylight . fading with the slack tide lost at sea ― a gloaming moment let fall from the remains of the day, like some other passing sea bird's molted feather drifts away untamed
I sit silent as the driftwood lingering at the watermark, watching a random gust erase the footprints of another recurring day, bearing abandoned memories and vacant heartbeats, atrophied in the drifting sands
and I see you walking towards the abating midnight sunset ― but I know you're just a mirage; like the dimming afterglow of so many waning moons elapsed
ever-changing tides grow low and promises made lightly do ebb away
Scanning the distant horizon ― a blindfold heart mooning all at sea; parsing a deserted shoreline, wondering if love is too late ,.. to stem the tide ―
30 May 2018
Note: apologies for the inconsistent reading, posts and replies. Internet access comes and goes out here off the grid. Thank you for taking a look through the words― h.a. rivers
Chronological TRAVELOGUE collection: 9 of some more here; published & unlisted
You can hold a pebble in the palm of your hand. But when it's been pummeled and turned to sand, no matter how tight you clench your fingers together it'll slip through your hands. Oh how the damaged ones slip through time. Forgotten n spread across shore lines. Where different waves reach their lips only be pulled away before they reach,
Untouched n unfaze they become apart of the maze. Left, Right, Up or Down, It's such a confusing haze. Her walls are high n you'll never find the center place.