spider13bug

Well, let me tell you what I think of your lips, no, don't slip away again through my fingertips, I just wanted to say... I know... If water suddenly couldn't become ice again, if she knew that a sequence of her being she can never ever go back to... Believe me, I know! So let me tell you what I think of your lips, I think the world of them, and, I think of them a lot... I am a figment of one's imagination, not really included in the creation... The truth is her, she is the cure, as the disease flourishes, as she looks away... Once upon no time, there was nothing special, here or anywhere, and she was sadness, she was linger, she was hu

It made me sad to see you go and then I remembered... ...the light bulbs are burning bright, yet light escapes the spectral sight, and stares at the ceiling, as the shadows of tomorrow fight, and die, to be born again yesterday, and do it all again... I scraped a letter on a wall and now I am breaking it, and packing it for you, yet the bricks are barely holding and the letter is too lengthy, for the eye to see... I think I saw you disappear last night in a dream I had, and lost in the morning light, I remember crying ink from my fingers on a painted keyboard until it burned, I pushed it behind my eye so I could always see you disappearing

"I struggled to create the ending and now I'm lost in the beginning!" He walks every day, he walks away, he walks that way, he keeps her at bay... ...as he looked up one evening he saw the world still there, leaning on his shoulders, yet he never stopped, the walking pace he never dropped, locked inside the dream of her voice, it's all a dream! She lived in her doll world surrounded by deaf mold encompassed by the old, that never sold, and as she told the bold and useless, and the cold lay still and careless, blind to the dream... The boulder thickens, the shoulder tightens, yet he is not there, his reality swallowed itself long ago, the

She lays there in nothingness, winter comes in her eyes and sings still the memory, of ice, of sigh, of the drop, of red... ...the ringing never stopped, as warmth filled the room, and brushed the face of the faceless... ...the world inside flickers of death, but as it's the sudden kind, it lingers, forcing the images to run, yet always undone, never begone, just... ...stay... It lashes in puddles of inner sweat, it runs around itself and cracks all the windows it licks; it is too warm, it needs it, it craves it... ...so cold her grimace, it soothes while burning its warmth, the spins and the runs, and the lost ways around it, the stop

The crooked sleepers steal the smiles, and leave the bartenders in vague, yet blistering desires... Relapse in depths, so squandered we crawl, abandoned, vile and divine, for still we howl, the lingering of sects... It shivers at touch, yet slithers and gulps, the bitter, the rough, the sour, the wrath, encumbered and dutch, forever the pulps... The sin is forlorn without a good watch, and such, this batch will latch rematch towards and even against my lack of back on stack attack, devising better endings to begin with and cut right through the middle of time... I've lied our truth, its letter carved on deafened ears, painted with tears f

the monster awakens, silence beckons and a drop falls into nothingness... thoughts rape themselves to death and bathe in each other's blood, tasting their own sour pain and wrath, reminiscing from a solitary god, decrystalizing reason, encompassing treason, hate... every day a cell opens to die and pours inside its dying wish that's always a lie every day every hour an idea struggles to live beneath puddles of filth, into eternity devoured it fails to give every hour every minute numbers eat my sour inside to throw me into the deepest oblivion always returning with the tide every minute every second I die and I reincarnate into myself to

as I sit here on the nightstand sniffing sight, I linger, failing to impress my fabric of regurgitating light and slowly whisper... ...is this right? should I stumble across all the tragedies of might bewildering and shallow as they're all increasingly polite and staggered and butchered and stenching from the art of our last delight? could you at least linger... and whisper hardly... ...is this right? would this ending be of impact and dramatic as a blight would you... would I... ...assume the role that given is so irrevocably tight and with this plowing yet delivered and the severed heads still rolling, in linger, seething whisper... ...i

because, the scent of thy madness leaves me wondering and glaring at the nothingness inside myself, yelling its deaf howl, hoping to reach it... because, the smile in your eyes watches me lingering upon it as I hold their life in my arms and die a little everytime they close... because, of the way, you are lost into the fray of our entanglements, as lips get tainted with each other and die, arising behind shut eyes with burning passion and lust... because, I am the loneliest creature, by choice, yet I often bathe in thoughts, that by existing, they transform, into your touch, when the silence comes... because, I am afraid of you, of t

Hear not this sigh... ...as I lay plundered under a soiled body of ashes that never stirs the wheels, as it will always caress the heels and knows not of this! Hear not this cry... ...as winds claw the skin around me and carve a story of frozen letters, yet the story never matters, it's the laughter and the batter that have always shown for ye! Hear not this lie... ...as it creeps around mutilated ears seeking justice for the truth it never yields, unraveling the gold beneath the stone, that stone that's always thrown in mouths of dragons never known! Hear not... ...but see with your eyes wide shut for the many days you see me not for t

Silence still beckons here, yet I am deaf and blind to its smell; I linger on it and steal the glimpses of warmth that shiver my brain... Incarcerated inside stills, with reason lost and pills, I sit and linger, on that breath that I am left without inside my crescent mind, bereft of thought and filled with bitter rot, lacking the entire plot, and you... Frail, this spec of dust I lay within, so frail and so thin, yet reeking of your skin, making me crawl and grin as a madman, maybe sadman, embracing spleen, yet lingering, whispering still "just let me in"