No one to blame but self. And looking intently—to witness magic. The song is rich: What have we to give?
I was damaged at first, I was nearer to you in a second; to die existence, to push passed passion.
They will chuckle, a deeper anxiety than laughing.
No one to tell you—it aches; thinking through motions, arriving home, seeing an image as it chances strife.
Life by strategy. Pain by rivers.
I glance over at eye-contact. Sudden upon a shock. Walking away, disputing seduction.
The weather will change. We will ignore a second avalanche. Art as it says nothing, it winks in private, a feeling rising inside, dry as a bone.
I was born yearning, lost to waves, trying to return to our beginning: looking at you, I feel omega, praying to you, I feel abandoned, in essence, just waiting.
I know another, innocent pains, to put too much stock in her beauty. So dear a shallow grave, too deep—they run, to vulgar, they feel repulsed.
It’s better to gravitate, to fall, to remember when pavement was sturdy.
You’re a thought unconquered, persistent, with the world laughing at innocence.
