Messy dreams don't make for clear visions.
She is beautiful, and I try not to think of where that neverending kind of beauty comes from.
(We all have a stake on our own version, our way - why else would we entrap relationships?)
It almost worries me that people that good can exist. No, no, things like that don't worry me, its the people that rather than elate themselves instead remind me of that uclimbable gap.
What did Nietche say about the Superman? Some were endowed to exist on a level above soceity, to redirect others according to the morals they see fit? Firstly, that's fuck - the strongest man is the most nurturing womb.
What events were these while the rest of us were toying with ideas of identity?
Sometimes you have paper page linings for intestines, sometimes you have a movie soundtrack mouth.
It all comes at once now, seeing as the individual fissures centered on each wide-eyed believers face only make it easier for the doubt to rush in. Who are these people? What chromosomes created those feautures I don't recognize?
Sandstorms come with the violence of autumn leaves falling in circles.
Torrential downpour clearly seems to be the statick resolve of a window wondering whether to pass into the unreality of rain.
We are each drop, circling around our own ideas until we come down off our (bad mescaline) delusions of grandeur to concrete reality.
we are a lost girl curiously inspecting halted clocks in an antique store.
Press your face against its face, you won't hear inner working from either.
I was told there were endless rooms of painted murals and stucco murals, and yet all I see are bricks.
One more move
and we both
place another
stone on top.
I watched a plain faced boy with an alloy tongue resolve to walk out the door, swaddled in the shrouds of his supposed brothers' commune, and yet everyday only walked out on the same path. Everyday I watched another one lost.
I love others more than myself, in the sincerest sense.
(We all have a stake on our own version, our way - why else would we entrap relationships?)
It almost worries me that people that good can exist. No, no, things like that don't worry me, its the people that rather than elate themselves instead remind me of that uclimbable gap.
What did Nietche say about the Superman? Some were endowed to exist on a level above soceity, to redirect others according to the morals they see fit? Firstly, that's fuck - the strongest man is the most nurturing womb.
What events were these while the rest of us were toying with ideas of identity?
Sometimes you have paper page linings for intestines, sometimes you have a movie soundtrack mouth.
It all comes at once now, seeing as the individual fissures centered on each wide-eyed believers face only make it easier for the doubt to rush in. Who are these people? What chromosomes created those feautures I don't recognize?
Sandstorms come with the violence of autumn leaves falling in circles.
Torrential downpour clearly seems to be the statick resolve of a window wondering whether to pass into the unreality of rain.
We are each drop, circling around our own ideas until we come down off our (bad mescaline) delusions of grandeur to concrete reality.
we are a lost girl curiously inspecting halted clocks in an antique store.
Press your face against its face, you won't hear inner working from either.
I was told there were endless rooms of painted murals and stucco murals, and yet all I see are bricks.
One more move
and we both
place another
stone on top.
I watched a plain faced boy with an alloy tongue resolve to walk out the door, swaddled in the shrouds of his supposed brothers' commune, and yet everyday only walked out on the same path. Everyday I watched another one lost.
I love others more than myself, in the sincerest sense.