Ambien
Broken, bruised and battered, from the outside I look fine. Noting my appearance won't betray what's in my mind..
A mistake is simply another way of doing things.
Broken, bruised and battered, from the outside I look fine. Noting my appearance won't betray what's in my mind..
Am I at fault. No, but my timing was. My timing was a deer running out to catch the headlights. Or was it to cross the road. It matters not when the road is but a worn out path to heavenly hills.
I found my dream girl today. She was staring at me from the side of the road. In quiet sexual contemplation I nearly swerved off the road, as her smile swept through me.
Trying to turn off your mind, scared senseless of the things you might find. If I should take the time, don’t know if I’ll return if I cross that line..
To unravel the mess that is me is a task I appoint to you. If you succeed or not is irrelevant as the quest is a futile one. But the effort you make will reveal your true intensions..
A rose as a metaphor for a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A beauty hard to surpass, where mishandling may result in injury or death. You could be a rose, that metaphor would fit, but I decided against it.
"Competition telling us to follow those guidelines, stay right-handed. But music from the heart, lyrics from my head to my hand and I'm left-handed.".
If you decided to regret those choices made. Perhaps I wouldn't be so keen to simply turn and walk away. But the truth is, forsaking you is something I could never do.
Pick up your brush and follow through,. with every stroke I see in you,. a bleak reflection, a gleam in my eye. See a fate so covered in black smoke,. as it burns we've all tried to cloak,.
Sing your song, don't belong, and smile as the people start to hum along..
The last leaf on a tree is falling. Dead from cold and nature’s calling. He’ll return once again in spring. With no memory of anything. This is something for my personality.
No point in calming the flame, let it burn through our anger. When the smoke hits your lungs, it’ll wake you from slumber. Despite the tremendous heat you stand fast in your white dress.
All the words that I think Like indelible ink Stuck in my head no matter how much I drink.
To wait for this experience to occur again, is a futile thing. Come and gone, a chance to act beyond your cowardice, to hit or miss.
"And I'm loathe to think that we missed our chance To find a way out of this downward dance And we got it all wrong" - Buck65.
A hungover Sunday with a number to dial So happy I called but then your battery died A poor start at best but I can not complain For that look in your eyes said I'll see you again.
One too many choices for me Way too easy to just disagree I'm drowning in floods of insight No tunnel but there's bright light.
Floating away on the winds that keep calling their names. Hearing a recital that echoes with all those I've claimed. I am no saint and I am not someone who mourns.