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Allow the words to form as a hurricane
Amongst the tip of your tongue.
Force the voice within you outwards from your chest,
And cause the echo to slam against the walls,
You are broken,
And darling, you must beg
Have you not witnessed the crime of
The crime of
Into the fog of our own predicaments?
We are taught to fill our minds
With the hatred we have for them
And curve the bullet of cruelty
In order to penetrate our own
You are hurt,
Left here in an endless abyss
Of suffering and emotional destruction.
Wishing, dreaming, hoping,
Perhaps even craving
A gust of wind filled with realization
To lift us, carry us,
Upwards into reality.
Darling, you’re breaking.
We live our lives, do what we do We live our lives, do whatever we do, and then we sleep. It's as simple and ordinary as that. A few jump out windows, or drown themselves, or take pills; more die by accident; and most of us are slowly devoured by some disease, or, if we're very fortunate, by time itself. There's just this for consolation: an hour here or there when our lives seem, against all odds & expectations, to burst open & give us everything we've ever imagined, though everyone but children (and perhaps even they) know these hours will inevitably be followed by others, far darker and more difficult. Still, we cherish the city, the morning, we hope, more than anything for more. Heaven only knows why we love it so... There she is with another hour before her.More Like This