Love, by the way
Wishing to see life
Ahieve what it is best at,
Coming to an end.
No, just pondering...
Hoping to see mine
Reach whatever goal is set,
Before that end comes.
Maybe, but I'll take my chances.
Wash away my tears,
It's not your place to do so,
And yet, you persist.
Completely, but not all there...
Torn in t(w)o pieces
One is here, the other... there
In need of an end.
Words have no meaning in this hysterical rampage of thoughts, feelings, and nuances of one simple subject... What is it? Only time will tell.
I see the feelings come and go as easily as a life can be taken... Death is no enemy, but a misunderstood creature that has found its niche in our lives.
What is the subject I am trying to portrey?
Lines dying with every breath of thick atmosphere... I can't find the words, but these will do just fine.
She is an enigma, a puzzle waiting to be solved... I am just missing a few pieces... but the picture they create is indescribable... and yet I try.
As I said, I'll take my chances.
I have nothing to lose anyhow.
I see the birds gathering bread crumbs, and it reminds me of a time when I appreciated the little things in life... but they were snatched from me by a vulture.
I suppose it doesn't matter. Vultures only eat what is dead.
So where are they now? These scavangers of the wasteland... Maybe there is a bit more to my life than what is rotting... Maybe.
I saw an angel once... Heaven in the flesh, she was, and she showed me Paradise, and put me through Hell, but I found the light I need to see.
And windblown chimes
Are nothing but sounds in memory
Painting a scene
Of cast-away dreams
-I lay my brush down
Rhyme? No. Only a thought spilled like wet ink across a page... A mistake.
Falling stars would be so much better if they landed... something tangible, something to have and to hold... I've found mine in the hand of time... he caught it just for me... and like all the other small things... stolen by a vulture.
But it doesn't matter.
Love, by the way, is the subject at hand... must have been a small thing in my life... must have been dead...
I once heard that love is like a fire, it burns deep within... well, what happens when it gets out of control?
I know... I know. I hope you don't, and never will. The pain is real, the pain is alive... so of course the vulture won't touch it...
I am kneeling at the altar now, waiting for a sign, praying for a sign, and I see nothing but my own tears staining the floor.
What does a breaking heart sound like?
It sounds a lot like a story told through the barrel of a gun, written in red on the ceiling.
As I said, just pondering...
A blank stare... empty of feeling, or even consiousness...
Not alseep, never asleep,