Time thief

Gina · 07-13-2015, 09:58 AM

The day was as cloudy, as my judgment. The only condensation coming from my pores. Cold heart, smoldering veins. Wanting nothing more, than to pack up my years, and be here no more. Sneak off with my stolen time like an heirloom watch. I inherited these wounds, when your heart wouldn't tick to my rhythm.. Buried in your plot to turn me to ashes. Absent me from matter. Unwind me before you stop.

In love since, my heart was as rowdy, as the loveless. Questioned intentions, leave lingering sentiments in your passing mist so thick it makes me choke on your presence. Trying to purge this unpleasant essence from the depth of me. But, no way to rebuke my inner demons without evicting the rest of me. So the best of me sits in purgatory haunted by my flaws. No hope for escape when, my guilt is down for the cause.
Touchless friction. Tensions rising, blood be boiling, yet love, love be missing. Not seeing the bigger picture, much less my vision. Unrest. Division. My chest is giving, caving. Restless mission, impossible to continue its beating. Beginning, unfolding, retreating. Ending, in senseless collision.
Hate is finding cracks and breaks to squeeze into the empty shell of our passion. Not particular to what you put into it, passion just wants to be filled. Made to feel real. This gloveless fitting. Patiently gripping this watery substance we are ground into. Love's recoiling, unforgiving? We must...might just be trippin.

07-13-2015, 09:58 AM	#1
Gina Senior Member Join Date: Jul 2015 Posts: 129 Battle Record: 0-1 Rep Power: 0	Time thief The day was as cloudy, as my judgment. The only condensation coming from my pores. Cold heart, smoldering veins. Wanting nothing more, than to pack up my years, and be here no more. Sneak off with my stolen time like an heirloom watch. I inherited these wounds, when your heart wouldn't tick to my rhythm.. Buried in your plot to turn me to ashes. Absent me from matter. Unwind me before you stop. In love since, my heart was as rowdy, as the loveless. Questioned intentions, leave lingering sentiments in your passing mist so thick it makes me choke on your presence. Trying to purge this unpleasant essence from the depth of me. But, no way to rebuke my inner demons without evicting the rest of me. So the best of me sits in purgatory haunted by my flaws. No hope for escape when, my guilt is down for the cause. Touchless friction. Tensions rising, blood be boiling, yet love, love be missing. Not seeing the bigger picture, much less my vision. Unrest. Division. My chest is giving, caving. Restless mission, impossible to continue its beating. Beginning, unfolding, retreating. Ending, in senseless collision. Hate is finding cracks and breaks to squeeze into the empty shell of our passion. Not particular to what you put into it, passion just wants to be filled. Made to feel real. This gloveless fitting. Patiently gripping this watery substance we are ground into. Love's recoiling, unforgiving? We must...might just be trippin.