just tired
I want to ambush every inch of hope.
Fornicate your whimsical dress that really goes well with your hair.
A foot in every lame excuse to proceed is a very laid out plan according to you.
Withered, folding, wielding, scraping and anxiety kicks in.
An occurrence, then suggest that anxiety and fear were better friends.
Was it all bitter? A sad life, Again?
One lift would be enough to pull yourself up.
Stop shaking, hold those thoughts while the men in the line creates a path.
While those eyes are covered, safe from dust but not from tears.
The beauty of it all, there is still too much in beauty for every lame bacteria to quit.
With such fancy and fallible talk you pretend to sink it all in one blow.
Walk, till it stops beating.
Gone, just tired.
