phill
I had a secret once and much like a dog I fed it once every day. I made sure it stayed caged & safe and kept it all in it's place. Until one day I let it out of it's cage for my lover to see, for her to know what has become of me. But then she ran away in shame and disgust, and with her friends this shame she planned to discuss. But by a light no brighter than a higher being's lighter, did she combust into a spider robust, with all of her essentials beside her. She had been cursed because her thoughts had got worse of her lover too happy to be.
I'm trapped inside of a clamp that holds down oak on some wooden spokes in an apartment made of glass. I walk on pins and needles and depend on lives so fetal, they have even yet to think. Their brains so dry, yet proverbially on the brink. These children; for all which cry for their sweet mother's swooning and sweet arms for crooning, whose voices resonate like the makings of brass, all sounds so beautiful, but I'm trapped inside nonetheless.
Is there a method that no one is just telling me about? What ever happened to free will and coincidence coinciding with each other to achieve a happy medium? What ever happened to happiness being a feeling that can be shared? What the fuck happened?
Everything you've ever lost in your life gathers up in one pile on the opposite side of the world where you reside, and once fate thinks it's the right time for you to find what is it that you have lost, they tell that what you have lost to run all the way back to where you have now eventually found it.
The principal aspect of loving someone hasn't been knocking around my head for a while, but ever since I took a drag of this orchid I found at a park near my childhood, things seem to be going in a different direction.
I reached inside my cabinet to grab a snip of percocet when the snake lashed out at me because of his inability to drop the bet. I won!
I wonder the wave meant when he said that he hit the pavement, all but obtrusive as a single stopping statement. I'm cool, but I'm hot, and also oh so comfortable, because I'm in the arms of a sweater I used to call Huxtable.
As much as I would want to hold on to the things I'd like to remember, there are some things that my mind will simply forget. Moments upon moments and hours upon hours, these things would change forever and bloom into beautiful flowers.
writing since 2012 · 10 entries · 9 days shown up
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