(no subject)
the excuses are used and the reasons are strung. this selfish melancholy that drives me back to 1984 and takes me places i know all too well, leaves me despising myself and repenting in dust and ashes. woe to the longing of self. woe to the satisfaction that never comes. the girl in the back clothes herself in the prettiest garments and paints her face to cover the tears... but oh, how soon the rain will come and wash away these tattered rags. soon, the skies will open over us screaming on the hills, dancing for rain.
the curtains are ripped and the vase is broken, and i am left picking up the pieces.
beware, empty heart, for the glass is sharp and the wounds go deep.
i know where the roads lead, and i know how to walk.. but i close my eyes and am still amazed at how i stumble. i am a fool for running on glass and crying at the pain.
oh God, come alone to the alone. mold my aching heart to your tender love.
i am blessed... and i am still learning.
the curtains are ripped and the vase is broken, and i am left picking up the pieces.
beware, empty heart, for the glass is sharp and the wounds go deep.
i know where the roads lead, and i know how to walk.. but i close my eyes and am still amazed at how i stumble. i am a fool for running on glass and crying at the pain.
oh God, come alone to the alone. mold my aching heart to your tender love.
i am blessed... and i am still learning.