i can't for the life of me understand what emotion afflicts my heart when you come to mind
perhaps it's adoration for my idea of uttermost beauty
the same as the sensibility to art - to the sublime
or perhaps it's a type of idolatry that i ought to learn from
i forget myself
is this as pure and unadulterated as it gets?
nothing sustains this adoration and then it's lost to me
it flares to life by a new face, a new beauty, a new charm
and fanning the flare is nothing but my imagination
which will eventually wrought the flares demise
and keep it from becoming a burning fire
what needs have to be met for it to transform into a conflagration
what similarities what coincidences
what do i know when this is all i've ever had
i hate how ridiculously deranged i sound saying it makes me happy that a specific stranger exists on this planet
how self-degrading is it to yearn for you whom i do not know
to write this in my moment of headiness
believing my existence less for it
this is an act of degradation
to ease my misery i could hope myself into thinking it's my soul crying out for whom was created in mind for me
but there's no peace of mind in faith motivated by selfish desire
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an air of stately melancholy
Poetrymy desperation and longing is rotting me. i cannot be both patient and happy, nor pleasantly hopeful without derangement. i make life anguished in the meantime to scorn myself. what you see here are some things i do when i think my desperation into...
