My soul yearns for the relief of twilight Where distractions are out of mind And people of out sight So I can stand alone without guilt
Every second that passes makes the desire stronger To feel the true warmth of loneliness And every second that the day grows longer My breaths react in kind
For in that room, smelling faintly of incense Dimly lit, the ambiance of thought I try to make the puzzle pieces make sense Meshing them to no avail
In those midnight hours inside my head I can digest the day's load Staring at the blackened ceiling above my bed I try to comprehend
Literary anguish, cold and articulate Tethers my countenance to the gutter And my eyes, once starry and passionate Have dulled like weary silver
Thoughts are processed from an assembly line Fresh and crisp off of the presses When I've made enough to remember why I'm not "fine" I lay my head to sleep
Perhaps I believe that only, if only I could maybe begin to conceive The literary anguish inside of me It might begin to leave
Abby The Odd · Sun Oct 07, 2012 @ 02:41am · 0 Comments |