I find a sense of clarity (only occasionally)
Where perfect verses make no sense suddenly
And a forced beat defies description;
A desire for the definite.
An intensity of the infinite intimate.
An enigma of everything immense-
Encased in a box of memories.
That I'll never forget
Where the sky was high
And the ground was wet
And nothing seemed to matter
And our fate seemed set…
This is where we went into relapse.
Too damaged to be
With you and me…
Yet I meant every word
I'll make this world my spill-canvas.
I'm too damn abstract to just say what I mean,
So I'll splatter my guts on a thin white sheet
Before they find out what's wrong with me.
What I try to ignore sometimes (mostly occasionally)
Where imperfect verses come together in finality
And I force myself to ignore:
The lies, the woes,
The pursuit of this passion
Lit a match to it to see what would happen
And knew then what I couldn't forget-
Nostalgia thrown so suddenly.