May 19, 2005 23:42
a desructive pattern to which you may never come out of.
like to smoke a cigarette, just because you find the dancing smoke enticing.
while taking drag after drag, the inner thoughts of your mind start to play mischievious tricks.
playing games of war on your conscience.
rittled with bullet holes and scrap metal.
yet playfully dancing in moonlight.
the choreography to a bolero leaves you wanting more.
just as the smoke that fills your lungs.
wanting more.
slow destuction, bitter salvation, yet a complete reportoire of a minds eye.
nothing is as becoming as the one who doesn't care.
for in an eternal empty, only blinds.
and the blind can still see.