| | I can feel the routine coming on. It can't be called something entirely
dreaded because it isn't; but its not something to immensely look
forward upon. I guess its begin sucked into the most obscure deja vu.
Some sort of paradox, a world weighty with repetition. We've said the
words so much they've gathered dust. Take out again, the bottle holding
the heated confessions you whispered in your swirling euphoria under
your drug of choice. Oh! my dear I still inflate you too highly. I
stand wary of such a black hole because coming out with scars is not a
mistake to repeat. But its all faded into an element of black comedy.
Stinging only because the devil is in the details. I guess its softness
and warmth of reliance I hate. The trust I detest falling into. This
might as well be any other time. Its the prospect of doing it all
before that frightens me the most. It still lurks in the shadows I've
gone too far away to see.
(to be cont'd)
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| | Posted 12/18/2005 12:31 PM - 3 Views - 4 eProps - 2 comments
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