A Late May's Gaze
"Salty sweet on the sand my friend
A late May's gaze that stole my soul again
Kisses for all your insides, a smile for the priceless
I bit through your wrists, watched your blood bathe the crabs"
A late May's gaze that stole my soul again
Kisses for all your insides, a smile for the priceless
I bit through your wrists, watched your blood bathe the crabs"
So send me the right messages and the right punctuations.
In this house where time never caught us right, never looked us right, is where I'd like to stop it late. There will always be two destinations, one of which would never matter to me. Destination one is for the hopeless and the hopeful. Destination two is for the flow goers and the fuck its. And if you can guess which destination is taking me in its tide, then I hope you help take me out.
This house caught the time wrong, and looked at me wrong. So we held a contest only for the best. The contest that held all my requests and strangled everything I detest. In my dreams I mean. I'm only mean in my dreams. And I dream profuse beneath the mundane and the calamities where I refuse to take my eyes out of their place, away from the prize. So I leave them at peace and infuse a new mood to simmer in the darkest brewing of my time to brood and focus. Confuse, then eliminate the extreme seduction of a game gone wild in the hands of the strangest stranger. But only the strangest stranger could be so obsolete, so romantic under this light. Wild in the hands so bloody that I'd remain still pleading innocent. It's absurd to let it all fall, to let the best cheat. This contest held no good intentions because we all pleaded innocent. And you're as guilty as the evident crumbs screaming to the judge and jury that those hands were in the cookie jar.
Inside the house where time held no interest in following the rules of duration, I stopped and stepped in insane. All is one twisted game with bluffs and lies and faces only better than poker had. Emotion and logic swallowed in between breaths.
In this house where time never caught us right, never looked us right, is where I'd like to stop it late. There will always be two destinations, one of which would never matter to me. Destination one is for the hopeless and the hopeful. Destination two is for the flow goers and the fuck its. And if you can guess which destination is taking me in its tide, then I hope you help take me out.
This house caught the time wrong, and looked at me wrong. So we held a contest only for the best. The contest that held all my requests and strangled everything I detest. In my dreams I mean. I'm only mean in my dreams. And I dream profuse beneath the mundane and the calamities where I refuse to take my eyes out of their place, away from the prize. So I leave them at peace and infuse a new mood to simmer in the darkest brewing of my time to brood and focus. Confuse, then eliminate the extreme seduction of a game gone wild in the hands of the strangest stranger. But only the strangest stranger could be so obsolete, so romantic under this light. Wild in the hands so bloody that I'd remain still pleading innocent. It's absurd to let it all fall, to let the best cheat. This contest held no good intentions because we all pleaded innocent. And you're as guilty as the evident crumbs screaming to the judge and jury that those hands were in the cookie jar.
Inside the house where time held no interest in following the rules of duration, I stopped and stepped in insane. All is one twisted game with bluffs and lies and faces only better than poker had. Emotion and logic swallowed in between breaths.
_
