(no subject)
Every day I wake up so overflowing
and promises that make themselves whisper to me with hope
and then I sit back in my room barely spent
with a bit less life, the promises are barely audible
and I hear the gnawing from inside me; it drowns out promises and takes chances
I think of a day as an allotment of my soul
It can be spent towards lust or need
but when it is gone it is gone
and the more you put, the more you desire
ladling more and more into daily temptation
it is similar to women,
they are so hard to leave when they become too much like you
yet the more you put in, the more you are in love,
I think a soul must be metallic, the more you put it into something the more you can see yourself looking back
Yet I am pouring this mirror-essence back into myself
and perhaps this indulgence will lead towards nothing, like an infinite reflection
Devotion to yourself can encourage lies, but it is never like wanting another
Though I wish I could love, I am always an empty-shell of emotion
like an insect so entranced in a melody that it shed it's exoskeleton just to follow it up into the sky
yet the skeleton must pay the price for this abandonment
It must live on and function, and tell others it is whole.
and promises that make themselves whisper to me with hope
and then I sit back in my room barely spent
with a bit less life, the promises are barely audible
and I hear the gnawing from inside me; it drowns out promises and takes chances
I think of a day as an allotment of my soul
It can be spent towards lust or need
but when it is gone it is gone
and the more you put, the more you desire
ladling more and more into daily temptation
it is similar to women,
they are so hard to leave when they become too much like you
yet the more you put in, the more you are in love,
I think a soul must be metallic, the more you put it into something the more you can see yourself looking back
Yet I am pouring this mirror-essence back into myself
and perhaps this indulgence will lead towards nothing, like an infinite reflection
Devotion to yourself can encourage lies, but it is never like wanting another
Though I wish I could love, I am always an empty-shell of emotion
like an insect so entranced in a melody that it shed it's exoskeleton just to follow it up into the sky
yet the skeleton must pay the price for this abandonment
It must live on and function, and tell others it is whole.