far beyond our years

[severeallergy]

i love our delicate world, this stasis of words and intent,
where the line is allowed to blur (thinking of her);

too good to ever meet it's becoming

so for now, the longing a drone, and squallor one of
penalty, circumspect eating at what is divine

know that from this abyss my words are most sincere:

let us not shape our illusion into nightmare,
not for sake of insecurity, faith, or fidelity,
or the fabric of this dream will soon tear;

let fate dictate the way this dream will disintigrate