2yrs Past November

Life pinched from slivers,

that linger like stuborn echoes in the moments of my lucidity.

 

stupified in the drizzel of the placid eve, each step bringing me evercloser

to  famed tragidies. Shakespare knew no greater drama, but we have our own, still

as colorful in there predesscors and the lush muddy green of leaves singin in this rain.

 

Through broken eyes i see a world washed in what we made. And my only hope is that I escapeded it without running away. This heart fairying me across styx where for all I long is her gentle honeymelon sweet drunkeness, Lethe.

 

Two years past november and these hands barely remember your touch but know nothing more than how damn good you felt. This storms just the next side effect of loving you, and so to is the hope to hold you again. Steps on a landing, Before the Red protal to Heaven, Hell, and the strange world of my now, yesterday, and someohow tomorrow

Author's Note

Just Writing