(no subject)
Thoughts of you flood my vacent mind and steady disapointment awaits me soon with pessimistic dreams of a 502 crashing, or lost in an airport, or the never-seeing-you thoughts at that unconscience moment in time becomes more apparent in Saint Paul International.
This is my reoccuring nightmare covered in a soft mind of your matter, your place, the air that you share a life with, the spaces that become your avant garde sound, every part that is you is a chemical dependancy for the love I posess.
What will this become?
What will you see?
my tired jet lagged body strolls out of that unknown gate into your anxious worried arms?
what will the nerves see?
the words I have written in drunken battles with the pychosomatic skin?
THE RELEVENT THINGS THAT MAKEUP ADOLECENT LOVE?
and then the eyes meet. And silence is just that. It becomes a battle of prying the other open in this, the way of some hot New Mexico, under some irridecent moon?
Underneath me, there is water.
7 hours away, there is you.
*its not good but its for you Bean*
This is my reoccuring nightmare covered in a soft mind of your matter, your place, the air that you share a life with, the spaces that become your avant garde sound, every part that is you is a chemical dependancy for the love I posess.
What will this become?
What will you see?
my tired jet lagged body strolls out of that unknown gate into your anxious worried arms?
what will the nerves see?
the words I have written in drunken battles with the pychosomatic skin?
THE RELEVENT THINGS THAT MAKEUP ADOLECENT LOVE?
and then the eyes meet. And silence is just that. It becomes a battle of prying the other open in this, the way of some hot New Mexico, under some irridecent moon?
Underneath me, there is water.
7 hours away, there is you.
*its not good but its for you Bean*