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Note me
perhaps
we were tip tapping, silently nosing our way through choices
like those ten quiet stars we could hardly make out,
remember? they only shine for those who search for them
(no one cared anyway, you didn't let me scream at the moon)
what is the scent of passion? bleak but rousing
passing those numbers away
just because our lives aren't written in stone
not written in tomorrow's hope
but in unrhythmic disjunctions
hoping to discover something to care about
truly deeply enormously undeniably forgiving
we're all comprehending the same idea aren't we
like flowers that are still graced after two months of winter aridity
you don't see it, do you?
something to dream about when we twist into lonely fetal coils at night
something someone, some abstraction
far beyond competition and compassion
an idiosyncratic playlist, humming
before the rush of tires blew out the candles
and melted me into relapse
feel it?
i'm missing that one thing, i'm missing you
that one person i never knew
that one sensation to pierce those uneasy stoics
imagine the soul that could grace your lyrics
rapid fire; collapsible barrier
hey
how's life
what's life
but a rifle
pointed at the closing hour
the coup de grāce
to our final verdict
time
[it is a lie, i cannot decide]
i'm tired, we cannot escape. tell me something worth the consequence
Sta.sh
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