I find myself in pursuit. I am searching for nothing in particular. Only an indication that your are as human as I. Within that indication, a justification for what ails me. The diseased mind has often been a product of diagnosis, so this becomes my war. I fight for a clear distinction between the things that are naturally unstable and unnaturally stable. The same war we're all bred to die in, THe WaR of FucK.
Yet I fear this knowledge, that it will release me from the comforts of my weapons. For when my exposed receptors poke and prod they find black masses, within the very boquet they set out to feel. These rotting moments hang on less throughout the nights and still i cringe upon the scent drifting along whisps of the northern winds. It IS my sour urine contaminating the waters and still we drink from the spring, in hope the depths will release a blast large enough to bathe us in the mineral of light, that we will be released together, but may we walk hand in hand beyond.
As grandiose my dreams, I run away to seperate and that is my high. When dreams come alive better I know it than fade in without dynamic view. Now, I have lost, you.
You've been so close, i could almost reach out and touch your face. Almost as close as others have come, and closer than those who have wished. If only envy could carry me through, I'd stagger on rock to meet the end.
But the day has come to relieve us of the pressures created under our worlds. A day where i don't look back is twice farther forwards. My comfort churns the unrest and cascading fires. My unrest fuels the bites around the neck. I'd rather fuel the rising fires of burning heads, a tornado of heat, suction upwards dispersing all into a shower of ember rain.
Just take your sticks then. Do you want to see me scratch and crawl? Misundertand me. Question my every move. Look the other way and see the world. Stand tall and know you are whole, beyond my mortal shelf life. I have become that place where you tripped. I am the newest description in your book of that which could not meet your hopes.
Yet I fear this knowledge, that it will release me from the comforts of my weapons. For when my exposed receptors poke and prod they find black masses, within the very boquet they set out to feel. These rotting moments hang on less throughout the nights and still i cringe upon the scent drifting along whisps of the northern winds. It IS my sour urine contaminating the waters and still we drink from the spring, in hope the depths will release a blast large enough to bathe us in the mineral of light, that we will be released together, but may we walk hand in hand beyond.
As grandiose my dreams, I run away to seperate and that is my high. When dreams come alive better I know it than fade in without dynamic view. Now, I have lost, you.
You've been so close, i could almost reach out and touch your face. Almost as close as others have come, and closer than those who have wished. If only envy could carry me through, I'd stagger on rock to meet the end.
But the day has come to relieve us of the pressures created under our worlds. A day where i don't look back is twice farther forwards. My comfort churns the unrest and cascading fires. My unrest fuels the bites around the neck. I'd rather fuel the rising fires of burning heads, a tornado of heat, suction upwards dispersing all into a shower of ember rain.
Just take your sticks then. Do you want to see me scratch and crawl? Misundertand me. Question my every move. Look the other way and see the world. Stand tall and know you are whole, beyond my mortal shelf life. I have become that place where you tripped. I am the newest description in your book of that which could not meet your hopes.
uswer8024082082084:
transmutated:
It is, a l0v3 affair.