Another heart fed to the grinder,
how many must I go through, to find her,
in every gift I see the Great Designer,
it all ends up serving as reminders.
Another failure, another on the horizon,
the flames start so fast,
how do I survive them.
I know they never will,
beautiful women still,
can never hold me still,
tell the dreamer what's really real.
To stop is to grow roots,
so I squeeze fruits for more juice,
but every headstone,
sits silent as more proof.
Maybe my heart's aloof,
a bloody whore for attention,
love me when its easy,
when the work comes, in absentia.
I want a love thats unionized,
I want poetry that isn't capitalized,
the mirror is so gemini,
what happens when your eyes are prized.
when you can see reality,
and when you change your view,
it changes with you...
ask the wrong questions,
end up starving in the grocer,
twenty seven now,
still waiting on the growth spurt,
the blood is still flames,
I know this isn't over,
true love remains sober,
my heart is getting older.
ATCHU
Bless You
Akh!
Aiwass Hadit & Nuit
Not used to saying it out loud in front of a mirror.
Sounds good from here, remember the khabs is in the khu, not the khu in the khabs (: