i can't see the point of patient love, when everyone just wants to get fucked
how many times in life can we make decisions that are important, but won't hurt anyone, at what age does this become impossible, understand that spaces of time can be twisted into someones emotional noose. can we just have a moment not ruined by a constant ringing of resistance in my head, yes it's fear that makes us slow, and we dissolve before the proper posturing can take place, another life retarded before it could develop, with forced metaphors. these infantile instances in time, you pick me just a few inches off the ground, for those who'd wonder, how i'd touch you, clumsily, as i am clumsy and you are critical. you would not heed, the words i'd wave, like a pamphleteer in front of your face, teetering talking points to topple over. yes the life that your leading leaves little room for leeway, we want a new landscape to explore, this sense of being in a place is less pronounced, space is reduced to ones own body, and the position of that body is known not by what objects have passed, but by how long it has been in motion. i never really had a problem, cause you're leaving. and this is what they call a dry spell, a blue period, and after just three nights i wish i would have never had you around, not taking into account the furtherance of self and the sophisticated songs you've sung, i've never felt so separate.