(no subject)
The summer could never live up to the hopes I held so dear in the coldest winter days.
My steps are slow but deliberate.
You ran so far ahead I couldn't see the words I felt leave your mouth, but now I can feel your tight grip on my thoughts.
I cracked when my perception crumble at my feet.
Out of the broken peaces I built my shell that will shatter with complacent words that are dense with meaning that is hidden from the person who spoke them.
From the edge of the end I look back to see my daydreams as hallucinations.
The disparity between us waxes and wains but with devastating surety ends with miles dividing us.
My words seem to always be clumsy like my thoughts.
My thoughts are brut's with reason that has been exhausted and intensity that has stubbornly remained overwhelming.
The melody of that song seeps through my skin into me, like warm water devours a cold body.
With each word I take pleasure from pain.
My hopes for the future are cautiously formed as I gladly repeat past mistakes.
What is this lesson I take from this stagnant reality where I spend my days?
I do not flourish and grow. No. I become more aware. Aware of a peace of life that I never new. A peace that is valuable but molded over with forced indifference.
I go around in a small circle as a flickering florescent bulb aboves me lights up the ghost around me. They see me, they talk to me, but they do not touch me.
It is funny how sweet loneliness taste when coded in recognition.
Adjustment is fatal when beliefs are the casualties.