I
feel you, and need to say more, where more is a burden; and still for more, a
valley in Kanye, a Kardashian spectacle; and more to fly, to grieve and die, a
flux in frequencies. Are eyes low,
the feel of heavy, a reluctant tear? I’m something there, to wonder for why, to
fathom literature; and must for digress, to capture sanity, a wheel in a
circle. The tides are shifting, to
fall your lot, to dig deeper; and psychs are watching, even therapists, to sing
of glory; where all is rain, the shame of years, the peers of ghosts. I write
for smiles, to live for smileless, if but a moment.
Is it hurtful, to stream a melody, to
think for senseless? I ask—to mimic
life, to wonder of pressures. It’s
more an ache, to cross for souls, to ponder mothers. It was near surreal, a captive mind, to
stream innocence. I saw it there,
buried in shame, a product of childhood; and through a heart, to know for love,
a valve in a soul; where faces grieve, and filled with joy, a tragic mixture;
for life is vague, to shovel a way, to die the nuances; and this is pain, to
live deceit, staring at crystal eyes.
I try to walk, and pulled for in, to wonder of why. Are the stars different, a bit elusive,
and prone to spaceless? I ask—a bit
confused, to float a kite—if only to disappear; for gray are clouds, a vessel
in a beat, to ponder for how. Do I
live for there, a treble beat, even a
boomerang; for art is passion, a secret world, privy to your pain? I asked not, to receive more, to live vaguely; and
more to life, to live a fever, a mixture of the two. You live it green, but analytical, where love is
gray. I know not a solution; to want
for difference, where neither can; and this is love, a shadow in a vase, to
speed for slowly.
