Monday, May 25, 2015

To The Lack Thereof

Fuck. Point, blank.
Sequential syllables are an abhorrent reality. You're an abhorrent existence. You have no sense of anything. You're a flood of needless emotions, a symbolic figure in need. And what does one need but A warm cushion?

"But there isn't a coast of limits. Two birds alike absorbing our tweets of pleasure."

To hell with routine and alarms. Days lacking a sense of meaning.

"Give me undue promises. Do not come. For a hug in trance is enough." I swear to God enough.

For life goes on, and your words linger, your smiles sting with blessed memories. Who knew that good times can be so hurtful?

Please do arrive in a vivid dream. Flood me with your vanishing existence. Come and want me, for I want you, and dare I say need you. I'm calling. I really am.

And where is patience? Where is the dullness of years I was promised. Time doesn't heal. People don't heal. You left too large of a space.

The lack of indignation. The lack thereof, of you, fuckin' you.

*Inspired by Khaled الشيخ!

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