| [Insert random but meaningful title here] | ||||
| 07:19pm 03/02/2004 | ||||
will both scream a story at charcoaled epiphanies. A melodic serenade to remind the inanamiate, of their origin and their descent. Let me whisper lyrics to this awkward song, in hopes of a breaking the awkward silence. -In hopes of separating love from aspersion. Let's swim backward through tears and apologies, and run against the ocean currents- -I challenge these vitriolic days to a battle of wits, and stare them in the face, grasping nostalgia in my fist. -Days of petulance; days where the past gets no revival. The broken angels haunt daydreams, and twist my wishes inside out. -I wish things were how they were. -They sprinkle my hopes, over charred fields of snow like pixie dust, and pull my halo down over my eyes. A smile is only a fused group of tears, turned inside out. -All there needs to be, is an ear to listen to me breathe. -Overdosing on oxygen, and drawing faint stick figures like times from youth. -Laying on circular portraits of angels, that once stole me from doubt. -Rescued me from question and the shallows. The paint of the oval portraits, now runs like streams over a flame, as they inhale sulfur and feel a spark. ...Tell me why hope is so empty... {stel tsuj ekam ti eht yaw ti desu ot eb} |
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nostalgic| shadowdriven | ||
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