(no subject)
It is those eyes; they can swallow me whole at times. A bottomless world and I am caught on the edge. An ironic symphony of definition and substantial emptiness. And the feeling? Is it possible to be so terrifyingly comfortable in such obscurity? Is balance dependent on the infinite boundaries of imagination and faith- or rather a test of footing?
Do I shield myself from the spears of experience and her false beliefs? And take it upon myself to become unhinged? It is in those eyes that I see the abstract so concretely and tease myself with such enrapturing irrationalities. But I am a soul with a romantic's aged heart and do not easily forget the vitality of delusion. And though this restraint of mine may be the force which keeps me from my stumble, all that I truly am contests it.
Do I shield myself from the spears of experience and her false beliefs? And take it upon myself to become unhinged? It is in those eyes that I see the abstract so concretely and tease myself with such enrapturing irrationalities. But I am a soul with a romantic's aged heart and do not easily forget the vitality of delusion. And though this restraint of mine may be the force which keeps me from my stumble, all that I truly am contests it.