DWP

I listen to the tone and delicate rhythm

At the ready to consume your words very greedily

Astonished by my bold, my strange wilful heart - and more of your response to my part

Notwithstanding the anguish for indecency

This wonderful connection, it is what’s called the unintelligible, but bewitching

 

 

The remnants can’t really see, as if we are in a stealth mode

That silences even our minds, when looks go astray in the deep waters of our eyes

We �" the frantic �" at the edge of insanity, aren’t we the notion of vanity?

A force, an oversight, brings the glint to catalyse

While wonder overwhelms, the disbelief may say: “Am I your illusion?”

 

 

Your stories, my mess, have me lying breathless and furious beneath you

It’s out of your control and I beg you not to blame

The causes ascending, to my strange wistful heart �" dreads this response to your part

I evaporate and disperse into the ether, by the touch of the flame

Leaving me in a state of a fascinating gloom

 

 

Those aren’t the raw feelings of dreadful ache, that are penetrating my mental anguish

It’s the clearness through the confusion, a scary delight, realisation at night

Emptiness returns, emptiness is me

I am the illusion

I am not

- And I am free