Everyone is fighting their own demons,
And when they all collaborate and lean in-
It makes anyone want to quit.
I’ve been full of whit- never only had half of it.
That crimson tasting sinful poison lures you into my petals-
I tried to warn you I was torn out and worn.
Darling I promise you I don’t act like a drone,
When I moan,
It’s as fluctuating as the moons phases that are written in the stars to be
Our physical fatality is more than I can breathe.
I have shed and shredded so many worn out,
Texts, phrases and passages,
And not because you told me too,
Just like you, the people who I drive to are ones who I respect for their life intellect,
That I might at the moment neglect because one of those old phases was,
“My words in a constant wreck”.
But I’d rather live correct than a mother fucking beautiful wreck.
All my bad habits were and are temporary bad phases.
But I always remember,
With or without you,
My soul is not only excited,
By my independent lighted, delighted dreams that are so high they pass Ms. Aphrodite.
My demons are in an over stuff closest,
That represents all the stuff that layers my house- that’s just lost.
I hardly raise my voice, never even raise a hand to try and stand against you.
Don’t you get that basic math is; one, one- two?
I fight myself not to close myself out from humanity.
But here shes goes on another probably already told tragedy-
She doesn’t want to sound like a broken record; but her mind just goes through changing processes to cling to some sort of closure.
I know your affection is not charity,
But handsome used to bring me so much clarity.