Please, bestrafe Mich.
And again sleep flees.
Recovery often comes with a revelation. As it rained tonight, the revelation hit without recovery. I'd love to wrap myself in synthetic dreams and while away eternity in a cocoon of induced bliss, but it seems I've been denied all those things that would remedy this loathing. Oh? And the revelation...the revelation. The revelation.
I'll never make sense.
Not to you, not to myself, not to the casual onlooker who twists his neck to get a better view of the trainwreck. I watched the rain fall in white-grey sheets that disappeared in the neon haloes of streetlights, and I thought to myself: 'to what degree of depression will I sink into tonight?' Droplets on the windshield cast shadows that will never, ever be reflected while free will reigns. According to Vonnegut's Billy, individuals on Earth are the only creatures in the universe who talk of free will. How unlucky for us. "Come on, baby. Don't fear the Reaper." Beautiful song, isn't it? Reapers and free will and rain. Such things constitute an evening for me. If only I'd a black gown, a liberal amount of decadence, and an umbrella. Then I'd traipse around the foggy backdrop of a village at dusk, luring children with my piper's song. Luring and alluring are quite different, as one would guess. I'm no good at either.
Allow me to press against your eyelids.
Am I not making sense again? Here. Look at this and giggle. In pain, pain, so much pain right now. I'll shrink back and double up. My heart that shattered the night before has wounds tore afresh. By you. Mad bastard. So hore doch! Bestrafe Mich. My sister studies German. I dabble in her notes. Those were pretty words that tell a truth. So did the title of that last pathetic entry. Nie mehr das alte Leid. Nie mehr, indeed. Now I'm wanted elsewhere, but I can't go for fear of desertion. You were a priority. Was I an option? An option? Your option? There begins the pain. Hurting heart. Beating bloody cavern. We'll never make another memory. You said, you said, you said. I let you see a side of me I never share. Now I remember why.
I get it now. I am not somethingsomeone special to you. Watch as the sobbing starts.
"Irridescent eyes of the sea horse rise. Treasures she loves, others despise."
Recovery often comes with a revelation. As it rained tonight, the revelation hit without recovery. I'd love to wrap myself in synthetic dreams and while away eternity in a cocoon of induced bliss, but it seems I've been denied all those things that would remedy this loathing. Oh? And the revelation...the revelation. The revelation.
I'll never make sense.
Not to you, not to myself, not to the casual onlooker who twists his neck to get a better view of the trainwreck. I watched the rain fall in white-grey sheets that disappeared in the neon haloes of streetlights, and I thought to myself: 'to what degree of depression will I sink into tonight?' Droplets on the windshield cast shadows that will never, ever be reflected while free will reigns. According to Vonnegut's Billy, individuals on Earth are the only creatures in the universe who talk of free will. How unlucky for us. "Come on, baby. Don't fear the Reaper." Beautiful song, isn't it? Reapers and free will and rain. Such things constitute an evening for me. If only I'd a black gown, a liberal amount of decadence, and an umbrella. Then I'd traipse around the foggy backdrop of a village at dusk, luring children with my piper's song. Luring and alluring are quite different, as one would guess. I'm no good at either.
Allow me to press against your eyelids.
Am I not making sense again? Here. Look at this and giggle. In pain, pain, so much pain right now. I'll shrink back and double up. My heart that shattered the night before has wounds tore afresh. By you. Mad bastard. So hore doch! Bestrafe Mich. My sister studies German. I dabble in her notes. Those were pretty words that tell a truth. So did the title of that last pathetic entry. Nie mehr das alte Leid. Nie mehr, indeed. Now I'm wanted elsewhere, but I can't go for fear of desertion. You were a priority. Was I an option? An option? Your option? There begins the pain. Hurting heart. Beating bloody cavern. We'll never make another memory. You said, you said, you said. I let you see a side of me I never share. Now I remember why.
I get it now. I am not somethingsomeone special to you. Watch as the sobbing starts.
"Irridescent eyes of the sea horse rise. Treasures she loves, others despise."
posted by Ophelia at 1:44 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home