Short cuts never take me to the sweetest fruits from the highest trees.
They only leave me broken and wondering why I took such an easy way out in such a complicated story.
I re-write my chapter a thousand times, but I can never get it right, it always having an identical ending to the last to what's been revised.
I trace what's left in memory of your skin, the lips I admire with such blind devotion, yearning for what will leak out next from them.
I wake up clutching my pillow, the only greeting I get is the cool breeze entering through the window.
Even this callous touch is an instant reverie of you.
I guess, I liked how I was never good enough, inadequacy kept me fixated, an awaiting dog wanting praise and a kiss.
I never got it from you, and I never will.
The little girl with pristine skin and hour glass eyes, I miss her, her innocence waiting for it's demise.
If I could talk to her, lead her in a different path, scenarios with less mental and physical blood.
The massacre inside her head could finally end.
No more split tears, the never ending lack of fulfillment during her visual ills.
She'd see herself in a new light. Something far brighter than what was ever imagined for her.
No more looking back at the past, a figment that no longer lasts inside the tightly fitted walls inside her skull.
All will erupt, leading everything to have this deadly tint of vibrantly printed out sculptures of the better and better to be.
Because without you, there's a greater, happier, and more enriched me.