all i need is paper and a pen..

Everything is melancholy, silent and still
yet i can’t even begin to describe this thrill
a certain kind of emotion that i’ve never felt before–
something that tells me you weren’t just a whore

you are the exact opposite of what i’d imagined you to be–
you’re just a wilting flower eclipsed by a dying tree
a piece of the soil smothered by the storm
a beautiful sculpture slowly losing its form

what essence did you ever have to fit the description?
perhaps just the sympathy for 7th abomination
how could you possibly ever ever be enough
when you know in your heart it was nothing but bluff

vain, shallow, narrow-minded you
grids in collisions at whatever you do
somnambulism in parallel dimensions
dementia of self-appraisal and visions

please don’t question his apostasy
there’s someone better and you know it’s me
you and I, nuanced to the nth level
GO ON AND HIT YOUR HEAD WITH A SHOVEL!!

waves of Jupiter, fallen snow
spare me and tell the wind to blow
too bad for you, you’ve lost your tea
and now i’m drinking the best cup of coffee..!

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