(no subject)
My heart soars to places where you do not dwell.My hands dig where feet do not tread.My soul, oh, my soulit lives somewhere aswell... without thinking oflife or feeling the dread that you embody. You, in your well-hollowed groove. Comfortable. Polycotton on pleather. In flickering false-light,reliving the pipe-dreams of un-moving spirits and it makes me want to run so far away. It makes me want to scream and sing and fly. I cannot dedicate my dreams to you because you do not grow. I will not grow in you. Tell me, where is the richness? The depth? The soil? No. you sit and you sink like a stone.
I promised I would keep you.
But I cannot go like Virginia Woolf.
(This lame-tastic stream of consciousness is brought to you by procrastination and uber angst!)
I promised I would keep you.
But I cannot go like Virginia Woolf.
(This lame-tastic stream of consciousness is brought to you by procrastination and uber angst!)