something i've been working on:

it seems like graveyards are the only place to truly feel alive. and baby there's a blanket of sorrows coating my trash can, the garbage in my life about to be taken away by indifferent hands. the heliostat of yr mind is coated in dust and now no light no hope passes through that dark abyss; half empty with a myriad of tribulations. my mithridatism has made me immune to subtle suggestions; the arsenic of yr jilted tongue (like a lover undercover).. scribbles or novels, at least the inspiration is primordial. and this social disease has infected both you +me we can't even point fingers at each other anymore without quiescent responsibility mocking us both. the ordeals of tomorrow are just a phone call away it's amazing how unsent letters never go out of style. how i still call yr name a forgery in this "game" of love, well this just isn't enough. a cold-hearted killer or a warm-hearted intention; either way, you are six feet under in the end +this is the rule: you don't love me, +i won't love you.

PREVIOUS | ê ~ badass clrfd | NEXT