I spend most days defying myself.
Nowadays, I walk with painted steps and legs like the spectrum. My heart is a color wheel and I am astounded by the artistry with which your tongue and soul seem to manipulate it.
Now my days are fast and blurring, and my heart stings and swells at the mention of the half-frightening seraph of love.
No words these days define my inability to feel anything, but scorn, defiance, and instability.
No way the days will slow down for one so flawed, riotous, and afflicted.
Not today. Not tomorrow. Lay your love at the door.
Now my days are fast and blurring, and my heart stings and swells at the mention of the half-frightening seraph of love.
No words these days define my inability to feel anything, but scorn, defiance, and instability.
No way the days will slow down for one so flawed, riotous, and afflicted.
Not today. Not tomorrow. Lay your love at the door.