(no subject)
and so all it is is the drunken explosion of a post-pubescent man. maybe its not worth anything. god knows im already looking at the shit i wrote and feeling the emptiness of it all. but what is it then? pursuit? aspiration? hope? these words will never be taken seriously. or if they are then maybe they'll be a silently read testament to this moment. i'll wake up tomorrow and all will be lost. but maybe its important to hold onto this feelng. i think i see it now. loneliness. sad isnt it. but its been so long since ive seen anything different. here i have those stolen moments, remnants from the time when i fell asleep against your body. they seem almost comical, so marked are they by the rivulets of a sons lost dreams. but its that image, alone, where i can imagine myself elsewhere. a transient image moving somehow amidst a whorl of emotion.
losing and lost, both of us together.
*kiss* for a moment i could see us moving as one
losing and lost, both of us together.
*kiss* for a moment i could see us moving as one