"devolving" poems
Asking a question does more than fill open space.
It expresses curiosity.
Devolving into things not easily expressed.
Given our availability.
It expresses a deeper need for connection.
Whether we are open to what we desire most.
Closed off to preference.
The right time of day or night we can de-clutter.
Taking in what we give out.
Asking a question isn't something done out of boredom.
Or merely because your there.
It expresses a thought that requires action.
That I've thought of you.
That there is a desire laid bare.
An anticipation that builds until the next time
I am able to hear your voice.
For the more serious moments require a deeper tone.
An ear that senses deeper need.
Responding to this deep need of connection.
A need of care.
A need of longing.
To respond to this vulnerability not out of responsibility.
But in the openness of being
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 9:58 AM UTC
Once a year its champagne!
I feel calm passionate and teary.
It gets my head to Paris
As life is broken down goes out
in transition or revelation,
there's a greàter darkness then the one we inadvertently fight,
the darkness of the soul
that has lost its way.
I was chosen by great sages crossing paths the sting of my blindfold lingers noone sees hope or their future, or where it leads we know only that it's bought in pain and sacrifice.
Letting go what I loved the most.
was eternal loss, having
no reparation, neither in time,
nor in eternity.
My love river is truth it's mouth is
cosmic creation.
He measured sensuality
secretively, and in shadows
he showed me feathers of half
a man syllhuette of him,
and feels guilty I just fill in blanks,
why smack a devolving face?
And what the heck!
I first measure people in trust.
then love, as true love is rare.
Trust tells love where to roam.
Love can't be made perfect
in distrust nor fear of rivals.
When I give my heart I do,
When I share my dreams too.
I do not drown in midnight
dew not retreat;
but I won't take sand in my eyes.
After the loving I go from rags
to riches in his love or shine
to wiser horizons..
~~~~~~~~~
Mr and Mrs Andrews.
At Karijinbba
Oct 13, 2021
Oct 13, 2021 at 10:08 PM UTC
No such beauty
longer dwells
under the guise
of flesh and bones,
in the garden
of a sullied heart
fallow heart
barren and longing .
time built walls
an unfillable void
burdens tall,
beggared of light
befallen within
a devolving moment
so many flowers wither
left in a broken
heart of gold
a gardener knows
sweetest soils
of love and light,
without sunshine
sour
as unripened fruit
memories fading
as if florae
never blossomed
perpetuating
wholly starving,
unweedable roots
too deep,
rupture when pulled
a **** let be
beauty
unfertile seeds sown
where nothing
longer grows
in an uninhabited
silence
raging unseen within
the fires of the ages
still smoldering inside,
mingled with hope
left for dead
hidden in the shadows
an engulfing stone cold,
handwriting on the wall
of silence growing taller
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 1:16 PM UTC
how many protests have you watched now?
how many devolving into riots?
via violent actors, on either side
what was gained, for those we lost?
was it in vain?
did the pay outweigh the cost?
or was our venture defunct?
would civil disobedience had been better sought?
or a more brutal insurrection,
to rival those we've been taught?
just do like they'd wish
and lay down and die
Mar 12, 2021
Mar 12, 2021 at 10:48 PM UTC
Pain reminds me I'm alive
Wish it would just let me die
Head spins violent ***** spouting
Evil eye pressure builds up pounding
Cracks streak my face from capillary fractures
I choke on three day old eggs and curdled milk
My teeth devolving in stomach acid
As bitter and stringent as anything I can think of
Still not done ********
Hemorrhoid blood dripping sticky
Toilet seat gripping
Not to mention the bathtub
Full of ***** needing washed out
At least my hair is clean...
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 11:09 AM UTC
Soft thoughts shift and mingle
Centering on seriousness and concern
The view below one of sped up haz-mat suit production
Gears of War turning swiftly ahead
As much compassion, joy and love as they could muster influencing them
Miracles happening every day
Constantly surrounding them with the ability to choose
Lately their decisions have become swift and greedy
Blind to all their blessings, cups full and still thirsty
Birthing their children into seeds of numbness and hate
Slaves and slavers to the ravenous machine
Language devolving into just more. more. more.
Worried that they still do not understand
The quest for the meaning of life simple and secure
Channel change on the world below
Millions of acres of altered food.
Genetics mutated.
Whole species wiped out.
POISON
Shrinking back into the safety of space
This place has come undone. Wrong.
Settling in weary acceptance
Finally turning their attentions after never giving up
Perhaps they will untwist on their own...
Immortality is not attained through the ability to survive.
But through the ability to impact.
May 1, 2012
May 1, 2012 at 2:46 PM UTC
We talk about change in a series of theories
But you can't just look at your lawn
And tell it to grow into a garden
You have to understand your soil, what it has to offer and what it needs
You have to know your seeds and how they grow
And you can't look at the wounds of the broken and tell them to heal
Like you have the solution
Like there's something to know
Grief isn't looking for answers
It's looking for hope
Respect
You gotta know your history
So take a moment of silence to remember what you already know
And if you have knowledge share it but know that your questions are worth more than your answers
Our language shapes our thoughts and our thoughts shape our world
The distance between us and who we want to be is paved with apathy and greed
It's where the parasites breed
What is it that moves through you?
Because everything, every touch, every hurt, every fear, every word is true simply because it exists
You exist
Our verse carries the power of of the universe but I can't help but feel that we're doing it wrong
That too many of our words serve mainly to mislead
So take care which of the two wolves that you feed
We have a choice in how we use our voice and as for me
I am not the language on my lips, my tongue is native only to my love
I speak in syllable and sound
I have my ear to the ground
This earth is my church
Sometimes I am quiet and reverent, listening
Others I am barefoot running shouting,
Touching all the art
You'll find me praying on a mountain, kneeling in the dirt
Everywhere that I go
I am home
The more I seek, the less I know
The more I question, the more I grow
When I look up for too long, I start to itch
How can I stare into the face of infinity and not feel free?
I don't know where I found these pieces of truth that I hold
But it sure as hell wasn't by being told
So get out of that classroom for a while
This life isn't about proving that there are things that you know
That shit's not noble
Arbitrary struggles in hopes of some uncertain future
Won't feed your soul
Stop looking for answers to fill all those holes
Carved by the fear of spinning out of control
Our people are devolving into white knuckles, short-sighted stomach knots
Dizzy and sick, so let go
Let the light shine through you and if it burns know that sometimes that's what it means to be true
We are here and that is precious
You are precious
So spin
Spin with me to the music of syllable and sound
Syllable and sound
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 1:17 AM UTC
J D Vance has such smoky, smoldering eyes, doesn’t he?
The way those baby blues coruscate, as if from the darkness.
Are those shadows natural? No, it’s eyeliner, of course, but on
a 40-year-old man it’s called guyliner.
Any teenage girl will tell you the kohl pencil is the gateway makeup tool for self-definition, if not exactly self-improvement.
As an ex-teenage girl, I can picture the hours senator Vance spent,
hunched over his laptop watching make-up tutorials on TikTok or
Instagram, analyzing eyeliner techniques in overwhelming detail.
TikTok clips are today’s replacement for the Teen Vogue magazine
product pages of back-in-the-day. I recall watching these videos,
at 14 and devolving into a fog of envy and inadequacy.
JD began wearing guyliner in 2016, so he probably watched those
at age 33 and by now, he’s certain to have upped his game by having them permanently, cosmetically tattooed on.
Of course, Trump himself has never been one to shy away from makeup.
His weird, orange, glazed-ham look comes from his preferred spray-on concealer, ‘Bronx Colors,’ a cruelty-free makeup manufacturer in Switzerland.
If this all sounds too judgy, I’d like to say, “JD, I’ve felt your clearly adolescent girl pain, and I get your desire to represent a softer and more romantic republican political aesthetic.”
And let’s not forget that Kamala’s been known to wear makeup herself.
Here are before and after JD Vance eyeliner pics - you decide: daweb.us/jdVance.png
.
.
Songs for this:
It's All Over Now, Baby Blue by Falco
Gonna Get Along without you now by She and Him
Oct 9, 2024
Oct 9, 2024 at 12:45 PM UTC
maybe if I made you a number
it would invalidate you to me
you could be #3
I’ll say it’s because
our time difference
is three hours
I’m just thinking about you
and I wish that you’d call
or take any of my calls
or maybe I just wish that
you were as strong a person
as I thought you were
this poem is devolving
I am devolving
but thank you
for each injury
I’ll keep them in my pockets
like little prayers
that give me the strength you lack
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 4:58 AM UTC
hall pacers dominate the morning
sandle feet shuffle back and forth
eyes cast down travel the floor seeking the droppings
of the pacer before
the riches are in the mind
baubles of plastic and paint
the remains form a graveyard
bone thin white shards baking in an
imaginary summer sun
the unshaven huddle in the corner
watching with avid eyes
watching for the silence that follows
like a shadow... like a sad memory
weaving rhyme spoken at first attempt
he stands perfectly still in the midst of
all this random wandering
staring out into the distance of his mind
eye on the devolving thoughts
of her turning to go
turning to go
to go
go
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 1:50 PM UTC
and if the myth be true, that the devil tempted with a fruit of knowledge, that man then was able to fathom like the ancient greeks atoms, then god tempted the devil by placing a mirror in the devil's domain, turning the devil's solipsism into narcissism, and thus devolving three dimensions into two, subsequently making the evil one a hallucinogenic.
hypochondria is the
weirdest kleptomania,
you never steal anything
but you're adorned
by such prizes as non-existent
cancers, headaches, itches,
gnats of conscience, flu &
irritable bowel syndrome; etc.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 6:04 AM UTC
*“when down dreaming ups” (Pradip)/
a mysterious phrasing sent,
the meaning devolving, beyond the obvious,
but slow like, as the mind turns and tastes
these words in different places, ways
when I lay me down to keep,
the dreaming up-ramping, the poems,
don’t know of absent muses, inspiratory lacking,
tongue tied eyes, all banished from the dream world,
where the poems come more than regular,
uninhibited and restless,
begging to be easy birthed,
oh please, oh please!
when down we lay,
up tempo do the brain’s creation ports
turn fiery red, agitated, masses of
tired, poor poems, yearning to be free
disembark all seeking a touchstone statue
to set them free to liberty
my speaking eyelids rapid typing,
placing whole writings in cracks in
the wailing wall, on my own temple mount,
where Hindi letters become stick figures
dancing praises to the lord and stars and
crescendo crescents interlock their tips,
until one dream complete is downloaded
to moistened, ready lips, for I am up, up,
from my down dreaming
10/20/19 8:54am
Oct 20, 2019
Oct 20, 2019 at 8:58 AM UTC
I believe that I control my happiness. Every day, I see people that go to school, go to work, and they act as if they don’t control what happens to them. When they are sad, it is because the universe is being unfair, and when they’re elated, they accredit it to the alignment of the moon, stars, and planets. I know that they are wrong. I know because I have lost control of myself, and thus, my happiness.
I am in a state of disrepair. My grades are slipping, my relationships are devolving, and my mind is cloudy with doubt. I am not happy. Nothing I do seems rewarding, and even the distractions I can manage to squeeze in only delay an inevitable tumble back into the depths of the dark pit I call my life.
How did this happen? How could I let this happen? Here I am. Standing at the bottom of a hole and knowing only one thing: I dug myself here.
Maybe it couldn’t be helped? Sometimes I get behind, sometimes I get buried in my work, and sometimes things are bad for no other reason than just plain bad luck. I know these are somewhat true, but in my case, I know exactly what I did to get here. I made inexcusable decisions each day: to play a video game instead of finishing my math homework, to read a play instead of reading my history book, or to laze around instead of getting done what needed to be done. I chose to put-off and half-ass, knowing full well that they would only dig me further into the hole. I chose to close myself off and to become snide and moody. I made these choices; I chose to be unhappy.
I brought this future upon myself. I regret, in advance, the hours that must be spent recovering from my missteps, yet I still go on to make the same mistakes before I’ve fixed those I’ve already created. Hedonism and lack of discipline got me here. I loathe the things I wish I hadn’t done but those opportunities are in the past, forever lost. I seek to change my future. I seek to be happy once again.
I believe that this essay has come at a bad time in my life. I am low, lower than ever before. I want to get out of here, and it is my belief that I can, with work and determination, clamber out of this hole and rediscover the light of happiness. I will be stronger for it. By climbing out of the pit on a ladder of hard lessons, I will emerge with the wisdom that can only be learned when one faces oblivion. This I believe: happiness is something I control and there is still a chance for me to seize it. I know this because I have done it before, and I believe that I can do it again.
Oct 12, 2010
Oct 12, 2010 at 4:18 PM UTC
It was a segment of me joined but never really there.
Having travelled on every footstep but it kept me
anchored below. But all things must at a time
become singular, it felt this time was now.
Time had past and this anchor had become
fainter, I felt weaker with its dispersal from
self. But it wanted independence from a form
feeling it was a servant not a part of the whole.
Awaking in agony as if I had been lacerated
to the core of myself, then I stood up and my
companion had divided its substance from me.
But all was not as it should be for errors now seen.
Constitution had been unravelled, without this
coupling light had refracted its existence. And
where form was once, now it was devolving into
its basic form that of obscurity dispersing away.
Silent screams echoed through, as shade made a
depletion of actions. Never getting close to its
needed attachment. Instead greeting extinction of
form as they became wisps fading into oblivion.
Those that coalesced and became as singular became
as one. Knew the needing of a symbiotic joining.
They were separated by consciousness but lived
now as one. Inanimate and animate united in life.
"Just because its beneath you never feel your higher,
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 1:04 PM UTC
“when down dreaming ups” (Pradip)
a mysterious phrasing he sent,
the meaning devolving, beyond the obvious,
but slow like, as the mind turns and tastes
these words in different places, ways
when I lay me down to keep,
the dreaming up-ramping, the poems,
don’t know of absent muses, inspiratory lacking,
tongue tied eyes, all banished from the dream world,
where the poems come more than regular,
uninhibited and restless,
begging to be easy birthed,
oh please, oh please!
when down we lay,
up tempo do the brain’s creation ports
turn fiery red, agitated, masses of
tired, poor poems, yearning to be free
disembark all seeking a touchstone statue
to set them free to liberty
my speaking eyelids rapid typing,
placing whole writings in cracks in
the wailing wall, on my own temple mount,
where Hindi letters become stick figures
dancing praises to the lord and stars and
crescendo crescents interlock their tips,
until one dream complete is downloaded
to moistened, ready lips, for I am up, up,
from my down dreaming
10/20/19 8:54am
Oct 23, 2019
Oct 23, 2019 at 9:12 AM UTC
I'm not sure how else to be myself,
I've learned that growing means fixing,
Everything that is wrong with me,
My character, my mind, my voice,
My schedule, my sleep,
Yet, my choice remains that I'll wander the world,
In search of something else to solve.
Fixer boy,
That's who I think I am,
Fixer boy,
Can't sleep at night I'm just,
Fixer boy.
I'd like to pack all my things,
Drive so far away that I drown,
In the ocean and sleep with the fish,
I'm not meant for this reality,
I just want to be ******* free,
I'm a man made of straw,
Push me over and **** me raw.
Fixer boy,
That's who I think I am,
Fixer boy,
Can't sleep at night I'm just,
Fixer boy.
Devolving into madness,
Every day I notice,
Everybody seems so unsatisfied,
I'm a pathological liar,
A manipulative crier,
So I'll live a life,
Far from the other side,
I won't beg for green grass,
Cause it's meant for men with cash.
Fixer boy,
That's who I think I am,
Fixer boy,
Can't sleep at night I'm just,
Fixer boy,
That's who I think I am,
Fixer boy,
Can't sleep at night I'm just,
Fixer boy,
That's who I think I am,
Fixer boy,
Can't sleep at night I'm just,
Fixer boy,
That's who I think I am,
Fixer boy,
Can't sleep at night I'm just,
Fixer boy,
That's who I think I am,
Fixer boy,
Can't sleep at night I'm just,
Fixer boy,
That's who I think I am,
Fixer boy,
Can't sleep at night I'm just,
Fixer boy,
That's who I think I am,
Fixer boy,
Can't sleep at night I'm just,
Fixer boy,
That's who I think I am,
Fixer boy,
Can't sleep at night I'm just,
Fixer boy,
That's who I think I am,
Fixer boy,
Can't sleep at night I'm just,
Fixer boy,
That's who I think I am,
Fixer boy,
Can't sleep at night I'm just,
Fixer boy,
I'll just **** myself before I'm 30.
Sep 20, 2021
Sep 20, 2021 at 5:05 AM UTC
I want to feel like king again.
And feel loved and safe. I feel so alone and cold. Like I'm sleeping in an unenclosed barn in some tundra and the doors keep flapping open and my sleeping bag has holes and it's been years since anything besides spiders and moss has lived in here.
I feel like all the warm families and all the soft lovers have vanished and left me to my own devices. Like the last man on this cold, dead earth. I want to have purpose again. A reason to wake up and a reason to not throw a bullet through my brain.
I feel like I have asthma, or the air is so frozen it hurts my lungs. I can't breathe and my skin is starting to boil and my hair feels so unkempt and my beard just keep ******* growing no matter how many times I shave it. ********* I want everything to stop, but not freeze, I want the badness to go away and the goodness to come back.
I feel like I'm reverting. I'm devolving into the lesser person I once was, I'm losing what defined me. I want to fade away entirely or come back in full, not stay at 70% opacity and kind of just float here in limbo. I want to know that I'm not wanted, or be told that I am. I don't want to have to guess and play guessing games with life.
Being born is the most cruel gift I've ever been given. I am so very lucky to be born, such low odds of it happening, and at this golden time nonetheless, but GOD do I suffer in this golden gift. I am obliged to live a life, and a full one, but that life is inherently founded in suffering and constant war with attrition and loneliness and disease and age and heartbreak and cancer and hatred and cold. And we fight these things and it makes us happy, but we have to keep fighting and fighting and fighting for that happiness. We can't just rest and be happy because it will all start to crumble. Your money will dry up and your health will decline and you will get cancer and you will succumb to dark mental places and you will lose everyone you love if you stop fighting. So we don't have a choice we have to just KEEP FIGHTING. God, I'm sick of fighting. I'm sick of suffering for the sake of avoiding a worse suffering. I want to just float. Just put the car in cruise control and coast at a healthy spot. But I can't.
Not with my mind. Not with my wallet. Not with my heart.
Life is the cruelest luck.
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 3:36 AM UTC
the seagull white against the english
earl grey skies (the white set against
the grey almost makes the grey blue),
scavenger congregation in a neighbour's
garden by the number
providing a calm call of comparison
with hyenas,
contrasted against the messerschmitt black
of crows in the waiting line
deliberating a smart move for the piercing
needle dive for queen and crown;
solemnly perched on roofs and television
aerials, devolving man to ant-like accord
with antennas pulverising upwards
in the style of modern-gothic, doubly blind
and doubly a worsened comparison
to the hiking buckle of sheep needing tender
herding.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 4:21 AM UTC
His energy has been here as long as mine Even before this universe we go farther then the past
Sadly this life is his last
No more revolving doors
Judgment does not Exist
A task past
Complaints as a masķ
Mercy is not for the wicked
The end will not come fast
Incorrectly formed
His soul is poor
Devolving floors
Aggression aroar
Created for tension
Beautiful messes
Learning Pointless lessons
Together we cried laughed
Now you will move on outside of this universe burning fast bright hot and gone
Mar 17, 2025
Mar 17, 2025 at 9:46 PM UTC
Beethoven was a genius
I am sure
Today he would have starved as I do
But he would have made music still
(Part 2)
Beethoven was a genius
Today he'd be poor
The richest musician right now is Madonna
And its the ultimate statemant I can make
(Part 3)
Music is devolving
Poetry is too
Any pauper with a pen could write the red wheelbarrow
(Part 4)
So don't you ever
Not now
No
Stop
If your argument says his name
Not now
No
Not
(Part 5)
Life is complicated
Art imitates life
If a poem is simple
I have news for you
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 3:26 AM UTC
This is the moment.
A tambourine plays the last 4 beats as a kind of finale.
Ghostly applause.
The slamming of the wooden doors.
And the background music never played so well as she ran out in to the night.
Devolving, revolving back to when the crescendo was building pace.
Never did I see such a smile on a face.
Beauty.
Am I no longer an extension of the day?
Grieving skin, chattering teeth and my eyes will lie to you.
Four walls, kindly take a bow for me.
Two names that no longer sit side by side.
I broke through all those Sunday shoes
Scuffed the edges.
Made my pledges to blank vacant faces.
Lost passion, pride is futile.
Dancing around trees in the sunshine with the breeze in our hair.
Running for the waves
Big tears we do cry.
For we are big girls now.
For we are all grown-ups now.
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 5:14 PM UTC
I saw God in a cheap motel
& He said I was trying too hard
He told me I should lighten up
But I was too preoccupied tracking time through vibrating echoes in the air
Rapidly evolving and devolving
And screaming out of my ******* head
My consciousness deserted the hollow husk of self
And like a gas, expanded to fill the room
Shattered the shit-stained windows, and expanded to fill the world
Laughing skinless skulls filled up the tessellating skies
& their hysteric soundwaves penetrated the oceanic depths of my mind
Where Machiavellian machinations revolved ceaselessly
Circling unattainable ends
I need to release the pressure
But my consciousness has grown so colossal I no longer know how to **** it
I **** out all the venom & vinegar I drink
And my lungs refuse to give in to poison fumes
& I cry out in frustration
Will I ever meet God again?
I wanna tell him I lightened up
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
Today, I got to open the door
They **** everywhere
They **** in the elevator, in the
long hallway, in the truth vending machine:
My brave heart sought a glance from,
Countless(not always) times averted had I,
Now I sought(in snatches)- vain and askance
I stood, exacted by the same meekness.
I could've atleast cried aloud within,
My throbbing brain alone.
Resolve and break off, neatly tucked away.
'Egomaniac!'
They **** in my bathroom. They are in a storm. But eyes unclouded, I could see!
Them ******* Their hands all over...
Exhaust pipes mirroring worlds, for all they care. They are clad in white, faces and all.
When I lie, telling the truth again:
Following it. Asking favours when dumb.
Part of them now stick out of me, Devolving white into the storm. They're seen with my
eyes, trained in my mind, Open my door.
Apr 9, 2020
Apr 9, 2020 at 2:40 PM UTC
The sun
It breaks forth through a quilt of clouds
And it shines down on me
Me, bundled in a scarf stitched with iridescent thread
Walking, with intent
My mind falls into familiar patterns of thought
The tiredness of monotony and the buried hope of eventual freedom
Some nights I have vivid dreams that scare me into waking up
Those dreams feel realer than my waking life
Real life feels dull, repetitive, lifeless
A gear stuck in it’s designed rotation,
Propelled by the surrounding gears that have also given up dreams to submit to the status quo of drudgery
What is this anyway?
Senseless pontification
Calling everyone a phony
But what happens when the finger is pointed back at me
And I have to reckon with my own disease?
Because I can see what’s wrong with all these systems and how “they” perpetuate it
But me too, I perpetuate too
And the pain of the world just feels too big for me,
And I just can’t please everyone, not even myself
But it kills me
To see us devolving into people in love with their image,
Kissing their reflection,
While our hearts turn cold and we become social media activists who are largely disconnected to the marginalized experience
Disconnected from our true, simple and beautiful humanity
I can’t bear to witness this descent in us,
Especially when I see it in me
I just, don’t want to think so much about it anymore
Whatever it is,
I just can’t figure it out
And it makes me angry
And wonder if I’m a misanthrope
Because it seems like no one cares,
And I’m starting not to care now,
But well,
Who cares?
But I do care, but it takes scary things for me to show I do
Like the feeling I get thinking about someone I really love leaving
But I don’t show it on a daily basis
I’m just a frazzled, mad person
Touchy, irritable, paranoid
Charming, but deceptive
Smiling, but lying
Because when I’ve told the truth
No one cared anyway
Or they hated me for telling it
What’s the point of this string of thoughts?
I don’t really know
Except that I had to get them out of me somehow
And unburden myself from the heaviness
Of these leaden thoughts clanging inside of me.
Oct 24, 2019
Oct 24, 2019 at 10:24 PM UTC
echoes of ****** ghost town mysteries
devolving into our lonely synergy
where we can constantly misdemean each other in our gutter schemes
of battling anger with dreams,
never again to split the seams,
never again to be seen
please, hear my plea.
i never knew what we could or couldn't be.
i just wish you could see me
i am what you almost are and yet everything you're not,
tie my tongue, twist my heart, knot it up and let it rot
"maybe i'll get shot" we stockpiled musings on dying young,
seemingly out of all the time we thought we bought
you are an alleyway thought bay,
forever haunting me enough to keep all my other ghosts away
"the world is ending in all my dreams"
i crushed what i had left of you, you'd never let me stay
we were a walking paradox, never nothing,
always but a dream never to be siezed
"we"
what a lonely synergy
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 9:15 PM UTC