In all honesty the way I feel right now is the hardest to explain
Never one to be speechless, or let one pick my brain
It's even hard to speak with my mother about my deepest secrets
Or find someone I can talk to that I frequent when all of them have changed
I don't see them in the same way
So I figured I write it to you, maybe the margins can relate
The strangest thing was, the stranger the love
The stranger I'd become knowing I was nothing like I was raised
But when one walked in, two more did also
Ceased that when I had nothing left but the remains of my falsehoods
Some of those women called me an apostle, the way I wrote to my heaven
And slung letters around their way to have them formulate my lust for their eggs
Momentarily I feels like my mental is rotting away at the seams
Only to collapse into my soul and furthermore so I fall down on my knees
When these sights are unseen and not spoken clearly
And held in for a prolonged time, my thought process lingers
Over things I knew for certain just two days prior
Then I become one to wreck my mindstate to get to the same plateau but higher
So I can look down on the info I registered as infallible
The same ones become malleable; and I can't see myself in place
How could you? -- maybe I shouldn't even be writing this style
Am I wrong? -- my feelings have to be portrayed somehow
And I suppose since I think noone is reading
This will be kept between just you & I, this could be our little secret
5/18/08
Back & Forth
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1 comment:
I like your style of writing.
It's easy to draw your own assumption through it.
That's what writings about, though, right?
Maybe it's just me...
but, I know when I write something - I write it to, a lot of the time, get it off of my chest, and so that other people can read it and interpret it into an understanding that fits for them.
I don't know you, nor where you're coming from - but, I like that it's easy to pick up my own meaning and relation through someone else’s writing.
Kudos.
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