a repetition of damaging introspection.
the night grew younger and he found some sort of comfort in burning embers. one brings about death and the other creation.
his irritable nature was dumbed down by these numbing medications. necessities used to distract him from the horrifying transparencies his subconscious resurrects.
it's impossible to heal when you're unable to translate the disposition that has created the mindset, and it's impossible to comprehend when your thoughts are experiencing a claustrophobic reaction.
there's a written answer but his momentary illiteracy is beginning to threaten a permanent handicap.
he'll circle around his insecurities, which will drill into the self's metaphoric eye [with the sharpest screw] and tear it out to expose another [now damaged] part of him,
and he'll mutilate his inner image with bias attacks on himself with his brutally critical opinions,
and continue a repetition of damaging introspection.
he wants direction but doesn't know how to read a map,
he wants an explanation but no elaboration.
he wants a definition but can only find the antonym.
she left home hours ago
'working the graveyard' was tonight's excuse that was given,
and while he mopes around within the depths of himself,
she's really out escaping his contagious emotions.
he's physically impaired by his metaphoric imprisonment, confined to a small collection of self-convinced criticisms
[he swims within his own faults that 'cause' her nightly lies to him,
and with the state he's in
he'll never realize that its her that never knew how to love,
not him].
and his white flag of surrender will be a watered down last sip of jameson.
a prisoner of internal warfare destined to only find comfort in
the smoke clouds of irony [because at least half of it brings about creativity]
she'll wait until its too late,
all the words he has to say will be put into some sort of expression beautifully,
and she'll tear her own morals apart
with every presented fallacy
[as a tool to replenish her empty heart
that she is artificially filling with
her title as a 'light-hearted extroverted woman'
within society]
and she'll quickly deteriorate and loose her ideas she has always held morally,
because the distractions from her psyche
are far less productive then what he's doing
while he's sitting at home dwelling.
his irritable nature was dumbed down by these numbing medications. necessities used to distract him from the horrifying transparencies his subconscious resurrects.
it's impossible to heal when you're unable to translate the disposition that has created the mindset, and it's impossible to comprehend when your thoughts are experiencing a claustrophobic reaction.
there's a written answer but his momentary illiteracy is beginning to threaten a permanent handicap.
he'll circle around his insecurities, which will drill into the self's metaphoric eye [with the sharpest screw] and tear it out to expose another [now damaged] part of him,
and he'll mutilate his inner image with bias attacks on himself with his brutally critical opinions,
and continue a repetition of damaging introspection.
he wants direction but doesn't know how to read a map,
he wants an explanation but no elaboration.
he wants a definition but can only find the antonym.
she left home hours ago
'working the graveyard' was tonight's excuse that was given,
and while he mopes around within the depths of himself,
she's really out escaping his contagious emotions.
he's physically impaired by his metaphoric imprisonment, confined to a small collection of self-convinced criticisms
[he swims within his own faults that 'cause' her nightly lies to him,
and with the state he's in
he'll never realize that its her that never knew how to love,
not him].
and his white flag of surrender will be a watered down last sip of jameson.
a prisoner of internal warfare destined to only find comfort in
the smoke clouds of irony [because at least half of it brings about creativity]
she'll wait until its too late,
all the words he has to say will be put into some sort of expression beautifully,
and she'll tear her own morals apart
with every presented fallacy
[as a tool to replenish her empty heart
that she is artificially filling with
her title as a 'light-hearted extroverted woman'
within society]
and she'll quickly deteriorate and loose her ideas she has always held morally,
because the distractions from her psyche
are far less productive then what he's doing
while he's sitting at home dwelling.