A Summer Morning Burst
The most terrifying truth isn’t something easy to explain. It’s a lot like the tide, though it exists in a very logical sense, there’s a magic to the constant goings of the sea that shouldn’t be explained. The crucible of intelligent thought is a conversation. Yet there are many things in life of such divinity that need to be shared with another. One can venture into any real fantasy alone, but it’s taking someone beloved with you that makes simplicity feel like home.
You can drive yourself mad trying to attain something you’ve perfected in your mind. I think the point I am trying to say without being so plain is this. For our minds may conceive something infinite, it will never be as immovable as grasping someone in their individuality. For literally not surmising one critical flaw in another, for accepting their inherent vices and virtues.. you establish something very critical in the emotional range of our developed species; connection.
At some fundamental level it is perceived by most that our habitual need for another is the only real defining aspect of our lives. I can’t help but differ on this point of view, but nevertheless, the ability to connect with someone as astrologically calm as her has enabled me to grasp this motivation. I still subscribe to the perspective of self renown individuality. I have come to the opinion in my short existence that to be truly fulfilled, you must attempt to achieve whatever lunatic aspirations you’ve convinced yourself of desiring.
Yet to counter this claim I think on a personal note(as if any of this wasn’t personal), that establishing one’s personal ambitions without the sensation of companionship and truly positive mutual symbiosis is a waste of life. But to be fair I see myself in the egotistical mindset of an artist. I want to fully admire the constructs of intimacy, and personal rabbit holes in which to delve into. Yet the structure that some cling to overwhelmingly is necessary at a base level to appreciate these constructs.
Everything in moderation.
Everything in balance.
Everything in it’s place.
Lovers In Paris.
I know the feeling is real, can’t escape it.
To be on top you have to sink, not live in it,
I’m drenched in pain, my worst demon,
Pathological liar, got evil spirits,
If you cut me open, dissect my meaning,
Shattered photograph, developed dreaming,
In my head, four moves ahead,
In my throat, i already dread it,
If you believe it enough you begin to question it
Decibels can ascend but can’t fake dynamic,
Like my darkness you can’t brighten it,
But your eyes keep piercing my heart and,
What if I’m too rough and course for your touch,
Last night you were begging, i stole that hope,
And if i’m too bitter, not sweet enough,
Then mature your taste, cause you’re not good enough,
There’s a reason I can’t stand this town,
Cause everyone has their head in the ground,
Yolo, carpe diem, memento mori, wake up and live,
Every moment, every hour, is the last one like it,
So if i’m living like I got no tomorrow,
Then grab hold of my skin until i’m skeleton,
We need to be naked like those lovers in Paris,
Our bodies on display so we can never forget it,
Baby you’re the reason the moon crawls out of the sky,
Beneath the blanket covers that cloud the night,
Baby you’re the kind of girl that takes the words out of my mouth,
The world hasn’t seen so much beauty with so much doubt,
So why stay lonely? Why not take a shot in the dark?
You’re my lover, you’re my hope,
My muse, the reason i keep waking up,
And if it’s going to be gone one day,
Give me a date so I can pack for the plane,
Find someplace where your memory won’t stain,
But no matter how much Ambien we take,
Sleep won’t come until we’re begging to stay,
So grab me cause you know i’m right,
In the end we’ll never have peace of mind,
Sometimes we deserve better than truth,
But baby it’s reality that cuts me loose.
You can’t build the castle walls inside,
But no one can say I haven’t tried,
It’s been a fantasy but every story ends,
Happily ever after always comes before it,
All’s well that ends well but i’m not well,
Torn by all the poor decisions we’ve made,
I feel like the scars are etched into my bones,
Yours faded all too quick,
Nothing against being faded,
Every good thing comes sated,
It’s like a bad ryhme scheme written with poor rambling,
Do you even get the point?
When did writing become some staple of depth,
We’re all just sick masochists with no lift,
So if I take myself to the sky will i be alone?
Drenched in all the forgotten things i couldn’t let go?
I want to take everything and make it good,
But when should i turn the page and start a new book?
I love the way the fire burns into your lungs,
Like every pained thing we’ve both undone,
The skies are but our mirrored feelings,
Tell me is this my happy ending?
Are we all but trapped pretending to know?
What no one could ever know,
I just want to see it through,
I wanna say I did everything i could,
For there is beauty in the damage,
We all know we’re fucked fools.