Harps of hardly hated hatred happily halted
Congratulations! You succeeded. You're a thief; You have indulged in the cliché of a century, you have stolen my heart. Without my heart I loathe you. Don't take it personally of course, for it is the only emotion I am capable of thanks to you...
Ironic I know, but one must analyze what that truly means... I suppose after the vanquished tranquility of a vanished, vivacious heart, that one might be so inclined to find it. I on the other hand know the coincidentally coward of a culprit that has thieved such an organic organ witch organizes an origami of feelings so deep they split and sink simultaneously through endless end zones of migrant manipulation, morphing faster and faster than the rips and tears of the very same material this plush, paper heart lives and breathes for. And beckons every man to listen; to listen like a long lost lover on a launch pad to loneliness after the same exact circumstance you put me in, beat him to a pulp of brutal clotting blood, bulging yet beating for one thing that tricks the mind into thinking a thesaurus of things that translate into love, lust, hate, heart, greed and grandeur; passion, persuasion, illusion, allusion, the fusion that ticks and tocks and makes our clocks swing and play and spin and tumble and break like the heart you pillaged. Pillage of pirates, like pricks of porcupines patching your peepers, ever so gentle yet suddenly severe you stole my hearing, my sight my ears and eyes.
Oh how I loathe You for holding my love in your hands.
Ironic I know, but you hold the only power to bring it back.
Ironic I know, but one must analyze what that truly means... I suppose after the vanquished tranquility of a vanished, vivacious heart, that one might be so inclined to find it. I on the other hand know the coincidentally coward of a culprit that has thieved such an organic organ witch organizes an origami of feelings so deep they split and sink simultaneously through endless end zones of migrant manipulation, morphing faster and faster than the rips and tears of the very same material this plush, paper heart lives and breathes for. And beckons every man to listen; to listen like a long lost lover on a launch pad to loneliness after the same exact circumstance you put me in, beat him to a pulp of brutal clotting blood, bulging yet beating for one thing that tricks the mind into thinking a thesaurus of things that translate into love, lust, hate, heart, greed and grandeur; passion, persuasion, illusion, allusion, the fusion that ticks and tocks and makes our clocks swing and play and spin and tumble and break like the heart you pillaged. Pillage of pirates, like pricks of porcupines patching your peepers, ever so gentle yet suddenly severe you stole my hearing, my sight my ears and eyes.
Oh how I loathe You for holding my love in your hands.
Ironic I know, but you hold the only power to bring it back.