The Period is a Sign of a Sentence Not Worth Continuing
October 30th, 3006
Where do we start? Do we end? The questions encompassed in that fleeting moment of overwhelming certainty that every move you make, and any action you may take, will lead to an inevitably incorrect and condemning consequence of magnificent proportions. Every organ in my body exists in a state of confliction; so while my skin longs for touch, through the unnoticeable gap between my deprived lips is uttered the slightest hint of conviction in not more than a whisper - all to the discontent of my otherwise totalitarian thought process.
Then song: purifying, docile tones cleanse the nostalgic senses that have so frequently betrayed me. In an indefinably short span of time in which it becomes easy to question if time even passed at all from one moment to another, every sense is indulged in a new existence composed of emaculate bliss & joy as every atom in my body breaks into gleeful grin at the face & the hair & excuse my stare if you could as it has become an involuntary action no longer dependent on thought or reaction but only on you within this room in which I reside & maybe just maybe deep inside the comforts of the protective walls a crevasse shall provide you could make life alright for someone like me.
You and I. And song.
<3
But the comma is a sign of a sentence just beginning
So with song in our pocket we'll make an escape, a daring derailment of all that was faith. In the name of expression, devotion, this counterfeit emotion coaxed out due to fear and the shedding of tears, I'll see everything that was continually, assuridly promised to me; all crumpled within the palm of my hand.
We stared and we cried while the Jekyll to my Hyde assured her that his viles of potion were dry. That never again would you see the likes of he. With solice and care I'll tend to the scars matching my own, the results of a deranged and conditioned beast of instinct, and I'll promise you, once more, the faith of one such as you've known. The faith that would have saved you from a taint in devotion. The faith you've no longer come to expect of me.
Look into my eyes, the eyes of a solitary existence, the eyes of remorse & discourse & of course you could understand as no other can for you've seen the likes of me. My love in you's not finite, though my trust for you's explicit, and your's the only face I see. I'm done with troubled devotion, long gone is even the notion that life could exist in a state in which you'd forget me. Every crevasse of your smile cemented in place by the assured existence that every step of this race is not a rush, simply fate.
It's as I watch it curve upwards that all rationality is lost, every thought's left my mind, every border is crossed as we stop on the track; I hold you and mirror the facial expression I've come to hold dear while I lose myself in seas of grinning light blues. Seas of love and lost cues. And someday I'll see to it that we'll never leave here.
May forever dream of lasting as long as you and I.
Where do we start? Do we end? The questions encompassed in that fleeting moment of overwhelming certainty that every move you make, and any action you may take, will lead to an inevitably incorrect and condemning consequence of magnificent proportions. Every organ in my body exists in a state of confliction; so while my skin longs for touch, through the unnoticeable gap between my deprived lips is uttered the slightest hint of conviction in not more than a whisper - all to the discontent of my otherwise totalitarian thought process.
Then song: purifying, docile tones cleanse the nostalgic senses that have so frequently betrayed me. In an indefinably short span of time in which it becomes easy to question if time even passed at all from one moment to another, every sense is indulged in a new existence composed of emaculate bliss & joy as every atom in my body breaks into gleeful grin at the face & the hair & excuse my stare if you could as it has become an involuntary action no longer dependent on thought or reaction but only on you within this room in which I reside & maybe just maybe deep inside the comforts of the protective walls a crevasse shall provide you could make life alright for someone like me.
You and I. And song.
<3
But the comma is a sign of a sentence just beginning
So with song in our pocket we'll make an escape, a daring derailment of all that was faith. In the name of expression, devotion, this counterfeit emotion coaxed out due to fear and the shedding of tears, I'll see everything that was continually, assuridly promised to me; all crumpled within the palm of my hand.
We stared and we cried while the Jekyll to my Hyde assured her that his viles of potion were dry. That never again would you see the likes of he. With solice and care I'll tend to the scars matching my own, the results of a deranged and conditioned beast of instinct, and I'll promise you, once more, the faith of one such as you've known. The faith that would have saved you from a taint in devotion. The faith you've no longer come to expect of me.
Look into my eyes, the eyes of a solitary existence, the eyes of remorse & discourse & of course you could understand as no other can for you've seen the likes of me. My love in you's not finite, though my trust for you's explicit, and your's the only face I see. I'm done with troubled devotion, long gone is even the notion that life could exist in a state in which you'd forget me. Every crevasse of your smile cemented in place by the assured existence that every step of this race is not a rush, simply fate.
It's as I watch it curve upwards that all rationality is lost, every thought's left my mind, every border is crossed as we stop on the track; I hold you and mirror the facial expression I've come to hold dear while I lose myself in seas of grinning light blues. Seas of love and lost cues. And someday I'll see to it that we'll never leave here.
May forever dream of lasting as long as you and I.