ekimups shit.

We could relate.
i'd be a memorable name if I strategically placed sentences in rhythmic form
If i explained a hurt so deep for you to comprehend, you couldnt ignore.

i'll catch your attention with my unusual interpretation..
my "out-of-the box" thinking in dire need of a vacation.

It might help if i explained a hurt so deep, that it consumes my mind and i forget to breathe

As if a breath could help a poor soul like me.


we love to express..
My broken heart's shared with sweet prose, and from its death, your spirit begins to grow


As a decision for the best..
From within ourselves, using the words of others
The books on our shelves, being judged by their covers.
Hoping to limit our broken heart's conflicts..how ironic is this? when its all that exists.


Oh sweet poet with words as dry as success. Describe my tormoil in your sweet poets dress. Forget your cluttered mind and its hopeless mess, and form me a sonnet with your broken hearts caress..



i might sing you to sleep.
If i was to express everything you felt..by my faults.
If i was ideal as if by making myself a result

i'm the words tucked deep in your thoughts
i'm a cold recess you choose to rot

i'll help you to explain a hurt so deep, how it consumes your mind and its ability to think..

do you believe that truth is something worth its keep?


Oh sweet songs with words as dry as success. Explain my tormoil in your sweet songs dress. Forget your cluttered mind, its hopelessly a mess. and form me a sonnet with your broken hearts caress..

Dry, human delicacy. Desperation.

Was it a dream to live the way you have..
Dying loathsome beneath your despair?


Forgetting your dreams only to live without their pain.



To become an extreme liberalist forgetting the moral standards association with the love you seek.

Laughing at terms, and taking pride in your ignorant responses.

..whore, thief,.. murderer.


To know that everyone is the exact same way, and no one knows you better than yourself...




..im the exact. same. way.




I can taste your love, and the blood running through your heart. It intervenes.


..whores, thieves,.. murderers.

I laugh at the terms we pride our responses.

Becoming an extreme liberalist and forgetting the moral standards association with the love we seek.



forgetting my dreams only to live without their pain..


And I die loathsome beneath the despair
It wasn't a dream to live the way we have

with our dry, human, delicacies desperation.

^^^"dry, human delicacy. desperation", promotes morale.

this one doesnt.. i wrote this one before the other.
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Morale is a beautiful thing, for the lack of goodness that it brings.

And the standards we set for our hearts, only stretch the pieces further apart.

Regret, truth, shame. All labels for a failure the goes by just one name.



Morale.


Fuck morale. As if any of us have it. As if any one can keep it for a period of time.

Fuck morale. As if It even exists. In a world where we give in to the smallest of sin.

Fuck morale. As if we could live, by limiting our hearts with a standard against 'this'...

Shitty morale. With a complicated twist. Your heart only breaks because life is a bitch.


Fuck envy from those who claim they don't have it that well. For those who long for something else. For everyone who keeps tabs on themselves, who cant afford to lose morale.

Hoping to find yourself in an attempt to grow with dignity, forgetting your unforgettable, undesirable memories.... as if forgetting would increase your morale's stupidity.


Fuck the boundaries you blamed the world for setting,

Your sins against your morale lead you to regretting.

I particulary like the first one. I could totally see it being a song.

.

Its beautiful but maybe desperate
How well i remember you.

Its how well i know you, that renders memories untrue.

Your pristine face with its soft white glow
Your frail delicate figure. your eyes and your nose.
my obsession lies in my heart, in a place you'll never know.



Why would i ask why? How could i ask how?

When i know quite well the reasons i have failed

The reasons i have fallen and chosen to judge myself such assured. For i have also chosen my definitions of a single syllable word.

I would weep for the circuitry confined to the arrhythmic pattern of analysis. For the interpretation's flawed precept of what im intending to say.

I watch these words turn to exactly this. I begin to feel nothing...

Im regretful in the words which i am slow to say-

the words which are repressed in their course through my veins,

They are anointed but kept safely still on my tongue,

i am poised by their grace, but taste vain in my love.