A Fool's DreamThere was a young artistwith a family of three.he was poor and paleand just wanted to be free.He had a love; a passionfor his art, so strong,but alas , none would payfor his poorly written songs.His paintings were no better,ending up as just trash,but yet with this hate,his dreams were never smashed.His hands were stainedwith every color of the world.He carried his suppliesthat were indeed quite old.He had a paint splattered tunicthat was old and faded,and how often he showeredwas strongly debatedHis family was starving,as was his horsebut his foolish dreamsonly made it much worse.
Hershe spoke to me one daysaid many things and nothingall at oncecold breath pronouncingsharp vowelsandis it so wrongi like to hearthe cadence of her voiceand have her closefor if the worldcrumbled in an hourand she livedthen i would die happy
Rotten BlossomsShe just needs to say something of consequence.She just needs assurance that reality existsBeyond the restless lines of her visionAnd that entropy is a myth invented by a sadist.Thoughts strangle,Ruthless hands dictating reasonTo a broken girl curled into the foetal positionOn the coldest floor in the world.A series of mirrors, reflecting each facet infinitely,Until it is clear that no one has been breathing for a while now.She likes to think of it as a dream.(furious technicolour, a red fireworks display, emptiness)Someone whispers that she is irrelevant;Oh, how these collapsible bodies laugh!Her face is smiling;It conceals the screaming madness beneath the skin,Like snow on bodies,Or denial.And they'll tear and twist and crush and ruinWhat she was trying to convey about love or apathyAnd pretend she'd the one whoMissed the last train home.(the bated breath of Tuesday afternoons, a lullaby she never heard)And she wants so bad.To understand how they work and why
Love Leaps All BoundsTo gaze upon the midnight skyI see in it my lover's eyesFor they are the bluest starsEver seen by celestial heightsI would shout my joy on highIf just to see her smileFor a simple creasing of her lipsIs her whole countenance in blissAnd should we deign to runSteps stirring spring blossomsNever I look at the silk bloomsMore beauty I find in our boonsHands like downy soft angel wingsCaress the canvas of my heartWhenever she should holdThis lover's damaged soulWhile Winter looms o'er lovers' doomsA bitter foil frosted in snowShould I ever fall to such fateShe would point me a'straightShame be cast upon this soulFor I slip on the ice more oftBut my lover never waversShe loves despite, fore'erAnd though timid and smallHer warmth warms my spiritA balm for the pain of this worldHealing the most difficult woundsHowever should I be her choiceI would give myself trueTo take upon her loadMy love to her bestowed
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