If This Isn’t Closure
This is a constant debate as if everything I just carried out is damaging.
A closure so authentic it seems half genuine with the
Constant reminiscence of an accurate, enigmatic energy
I used to consider security.
It’s almost like a crime scene, with everyone
Wondering who the victim and the culprit is.
Because the lines are so elusive.
An intangible feeling.
But the feeling always hits.
It’s a dymanism embodied with something less incorporate,
A paisley schemed bedsheet covering the stains of a
Sacchariferous and amaroidal lust we used to consider love.
Bury the shame.
Bury the cognizance after you allow the final bullet to execute me.
I can only hope you can walk the line after you reflect on how divine we could have been.
After you’ve walked far enough, I believe I’ll find my place.
Ninety days is not what it takes.
- November 13 2012 | - Read More →