victoriaphisig
If we were to die like this,
Blushing and gleaming,
Twisted and weaving
Tangled up in our secret abyss
If this were the end and God willed it so,
should this glorious night be our last
I'd stare at the light while it entered your eyes,
and know it was our time to go
When our heartbeats grew faint and our muscles relaxed
And we knew that the moment was this
I'd bring my lips close to inhale your last breath,
before letting it go with a kiss
"Come on! It's not rocket science!" I wonder if even one of geniuses who choose to utter this awful cliche has even ever glanced at literature explaining how a rocket works. If they haven't read up on it, then they are just assuming that they wouldn't be able to understand it and thus insulting their own intelligence. My theory is this. If you have the audacity to look at someone and exclaim..."Come on, Its not Rocket Science!", by default you are an idiot, you do not understand the subject you are referring to and you probably wouldn't know a Rocket or any part of your body from a hole in the wall.
My concentration is broken, I am broken. So many things run through my head, swirling and colliding. Fixated on a purpose which has been intruded upon by chance occurences, my mother's voice, the leak in the ceiling, the demands of my job, the barking dog and the empty bowl where his food should be. I can't write, I can't think about this, I am uninspired by the unavoidable realities of life that consume my mind and suck up all its creativity. I am sidetracked, distracted, my mind in a unending fight against the suffocating clouds that surround it.