Theres a weaving mockery of your affection that births an amorous reflection for yourself. You wield an enchanting power over me, one so profound that my impulsivity has become submission. Yet, you harness no real power at all for if you did my doubts of you would hold not merit. But doubts there are . . . and when they are, they hold a threatening mechanism of guilt and fear. I see that every corner of my conscience has been washed by your confidence. You have managed to erode my morals to your satisfaction. The timeless memory of you has me standing in an abysmal illusion in which i stay in all with you. Future has no right for me without your permission, you have stolen my will.
Walking in the woods of my mind i know you are gone in the most discrete way, and i stand behind that blind. Blind, Blind, Blind, because the grip of your power over my mind has folded my perception into an art of war. A fight between love and hate. A battlefield full of history and fate. An earth of melting grace.
You see me,
At least i think you see me, so badly, knowing nothing, wanting everything. Engaged in the likes of your cravings all my discomfort bows to your approval. Not in the submission of a being but a submission of the soul. There is no physicality to our existence, there is only hope of mutual understanding. Pitiful expectation that feelings will elevate us to an alternate reality. A reality miming my requests of you.
you hear me,
In the most private realms of my dreams you hear me. The vibrations of my very nuclear being massage you ignorance and tap your intent. All your thoughts deceive you into thinking feeling is a delusion, senses are institutional . . . systematically human. But you know better. You are just not that lucky. You garden no such beauty to manifest that flawless bloodline of kings and queens. It is all just a game dealt in the hands simplicity. In the paws of neutral energy.
You feel me with clairvoyance,
The mirage of my honesty comforts you. All that you were raised to know makes you believe that. Anything that will come is of mere expectance that others will fail you, and if they don’t they fail themselves. This is all you know. I try to betray that truth of yours by spoiling your trust with undeserving loyalty. I try, I try, I tried. Howevermore, the patterns of your cognition prove to be nothing else but crystal superficiality. You predict me softly.
Still, there is a darkness to the love i yield for you. It never seemed to interest me when you turned your stare away from my breathing devotion. I had already allowed you to deflower my heart, and i wear the cologne of your pride all over my sentiments. You hunger my intuition. You have starved my vision. You have cheated me in the most beautiful way. . . dancing with my innocence each day, glancing at my insecurities with delicacy, caressing my weeping pain astray. . . you have taken the potential of my strength and have left my spirits in debt.
The prediction of my actions could never be wrong coming from you. You navigate my existence by the most whimsical and effortless curving of my smile. You play songs inside me that no one has heard before. The music of your emotion gravitates my potential, my every dancing worship. And you are no man, no woman, no fear, no love, no thing. You are that warm euphoric steaming from the hot streets of venice after a dawn of rain. . . you are that teasing memory of living in a womb, of the most ungraspable truth.
All i can do is yawn apologetic,
You are so gentle but no man, so tender but no woman, so alive but no thing. you are just that, the very drowning depths of me. My very cornered pain and desire. You quilt my sorrow, and stroke my joy. Still always, I weep for your approval. I hope to one day touch you in the most intimate way that you feel me. The bottomless mystery of your knowledge over me leaves me breathless, grateful and so numb. So dead i can almost dream myself awake.
Is the song almost over? Because i feel you giving me up right in the center cavity of my heart where the beatings wrinkle currents of nostalgia. Are we almost there? In the endless hills of our drunken existence. I fear you not, love you not, hate you not, know you not…