I didn't feel like being distracted.
Listened to an angry heart
Beat heavily, breathe apart
Unconsciously, you're in my head
As I lay too consciously in bed,
Mindfully conjuring all these things...
Endlessly upsetting items of dread.
The snarl of a stomach not full
Enough of emptiness to sit and mull
As to, like and of, my mental acidity
Always, of she said, thought, and so did he;
Never, to...it's the very worst thing
so please, please do not pity me.
Looked more closely at myself
And you, knocked our qualms down from the shelf;
My inadequacies are thrilling
And yours are all too filling
For their appetites and secret eyes
But I'm still fighting them...and mine are killing.
The upset, sorrow and woe
Eternally of love and hatred to
My want for your happiness;
Existentialism's sorry essence.
And to the perpetuation of thinking
This the root of love and hate is love of bliss.
I cannot listen to your voice or look at your face.
Couldn't then either, caught in this place
Where I wonder if you ever dream of me.
Then, never; always now, we seem to be...
I love you and hate all this, then and now
Ours seemed to be...ours seems to be transpiring.
I don't feel like being distracted. |
Submission Name: Distraction Transpires.
