I scribble when you are sleeping, and then go over it when I'm not delusional and can think straight. This way, I can.. hopefully.. plunge the words into a definition blender and juice out the meaning. It's like a tester to sample out extra bundles of crumbled journal paper. Yeah, so far it's got some weird flavors-
No man of friendship but a man of egoism.
No man of friendship but a man of egoism.
Not a woman of beauty but one of true bone.
It's easy now. It depends on the view, your perception and accessible compatibility?
She's selective. Obsessively compulsive of being compulsive.
The weight is sinning, bring me down. Bringing me down, down. My head's in the clouds.
Feet off the ground.
Remove your concealer.
What is finer than being true and being you?
Here's a little shout out to what you haven't seen before. This.
I'm fluent in sarcasm, but here lies a more serious note. Perhaps it will evolve into what I want it to be. This is all just an extra notepad to me.
Nothing makes sense at this time of day. I don't even know why I bother, because it just sounds good later on, and when I do come across a situation, it all makes sense. Right now, it's like I'm foreshadowing on my own life experiences. Like music, only the song can understand you. But these words, only the words can speak to you. They are nothing but a dish and dash of textile and ink. They don't look like much. They are mere sounds and views, just like a foreign language.
But how do they make you feel? These words. My soul throwing up on a blank box.
I want to move you.
I'll get there when I get there.
What is finer than being true and being you?
Here's a little shout out to what you haven't seen before. This.
I'm fluent in sarcasm, but here lies a more serious note. Perhaps it will evolve into what I want it to be. This is all just an extra notepad to me.
Nothing makes sense at this time of day. I don't even know why I bother, because it just sounds good later on, and when I do come across a situation, it all makes sense. Right now, it's like I'm foreshadowing on my own life experiences. Like music, only the song can understand you. But these words, only the words can speak to you. They are nothing but a dish and dash of textile and ink. They don't look like much. They are mere sounds and views, just like a foreign language.
But how do they make you feel? These words. My soul throwing up on a blank box.
I want to move you.
I'll get there when I get there.
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