the story of he and she....
he sucked the life out of her that night. she became a disheveled corpse as he sucked the soul from her wretched body. don't let these two worlds collide. one world of faults and another of morality. chaos strikes loose. pieces never to be reasembled. a self imposed apocolypse.
the mind alters each image into a skewed vision of disaster. they say this isn't normal, but it's always been the normality. the silence is no longer frightening and the screaming no longer evokes fear. she's found the sanctuary to her heart in her own kindred ear. disaster struck at the most inopportune moment, but then again when is tragedy ever acceptable. it was one of those two steps forward with a push of four steps back. a story that has become all too real.
the sounds of crickets leaves her with an empty feeling inside, and its become an ungodly nuisance. this numbness has become somewhat painful, but it's artificial...at times she aches to feel something real, whether it be anger or hatred. she just needs a glimse of reality...a dull feeling to become sharp. some reassurance that the past will not be the future, even though her future and her doubt coincide. companionship has become bitter and violence sweet.
they spoke as if they were strangers, mere passerbyers on the street. she new it was the easy way out and that's the route that he always took. she was always a dilema with which he'd rather not preoccupy himself. she was the chaos and catastrophe that struck him, while he believed himself to be the rock. but he misinterpreted the inscriptions. he became stone-faced long ago and the one who once protected her had sliced open the remaining contents of
her heart. bitter-sweet they say, yet i claim heartache. it's a paradox i'd
rather put behind me.
it was the downfall of a dynasty. for that one moment it was all that truly mattered. she'd become everything that she had once vowed to always hate, and he felt the sting. she'd become another casualty, a statistic, merely a number, when she had once been his one and only.
a twisted psychosis. it wasn't quite black or white, nor vaguely even gray. there were no reminants of color. he turned his back on the disaster that had created and moved on as he had done many times before.
her heart could no longer pulsate for it had been damaged beyond repair. she became heartless and cold. her fingers had become numb for they had nothing to hold. she became motionless. she had bent over backwards for one too many people, she had snapped. her lips that were long since kissed became apathetic. she became mute.
the mind alters each image into a skewed vision of disaster. they say this isn't normal, but it's always been the normality. the silence is no longer frightening and the screaming no longer evokes fear. she's found the sanctuary to her heart in her own kindred ear. disaster struck at the most inopportune moment, but then again when is tragedy ever acceptable. it was one of those two steps forward with a push of four steps back. a story that has become all too real.
the sounds of crickets leaves her with an empty feeling inside, and its become an ungodly nuisance. this numbness has become somewhat painful, but it's artificial...at times she aches to feel something real, whether it be anger or hatred. she just needs a glimse of reality...a dull feeling to become sharp. some reassurance that the past will not be the future, even though her future and her doubt coincide. companionship has become bitter and violence sweet.
they spoke as if they were strangers, mere passerbyers on the street. she new it was the easy way out and that's the route that he always took. she was always a dilema with which he'd rather not preoccupy himself. she was the chaos and catastrophe that struck him, while he believed himself to be the rock. but he misinterpreted the inscriptions. he became stone-faced long ago and the one who once protected her had sliced open the remaining contents of
her heart. bitter-sweet they say, yet i claim heartache. it's a paradox i'd
rather put behind me.
it was the downfall of a dynasty. for that one moment it was all that truly mattered. she'd become everything that she had once vowed to always hate, and he felt the sting. she'd become another casualty, a statistic, merely a number, when she had once been his one and only.
a twisted psychosis. it wasn't quite black or white, nor vaguely even gray. there were no reminants of color. he turned his back on the disaster that had created and moved on as he had done many times before.
her heart could no longer pulsate for it had been damaged beyond repair. she became heartless and cold. her fingers had become numb for they had nothing to hold. she became motionless. she had bent over backwards for one too many people, she had snapped. her lips that were long since kissed became apathetic. she became mute.