Mellifluous Murmurs

Bones

Your heart, it pumps life, 

it seems sharp, but it isn't as hazardous as a knife.

The crafting seems so divine and so pure, 

it looks as if it's definitely something that I can sustain and endure.

It beats hard for a minute or two, 

because that's what it thinks; its capability is more than just to do.

A couple glances and I look out into the sheltering wind of the life welcoming field, 

its destiny is so repleneshing and refreshing that it acts of so as a shield.

Whether you can tell the difference of a mind, 

or to tell between good and kind.

The foolishness inside of this creation pumps, 

it pressurizes and it certainly dumps.

Silly little lies seem somehow simple and white,

Don't let it go out; that destiny and vitality of the lifetime lasting light. 

I shed my skin to its very last bit, 

and as the euphoria initiates, I glance at the life of mine that was once up and lit.

My blood leaks to the very last of its drop,

it won't make me stronger, yet somehow it'll lose and stop. 

Simmer down a lot, 

stumble down a couple commas yet attract that one particular dot. 

Ahh.. I look around solemnly at my grown old society, 

ha-ha, I realize my laughs as they turn into stiffling cries that mumble the repeated phrase, "I lost my sobriety."

Sobriety of what?

It was the dream that finally wanted to cut...

Sincerity, secrecy, euphoria, a thousand words that jumble across my rusty brain,

I hope those words remain and hopefully not drain.

Trust doesn't come easy in no way, 

it's the moments that pass by that make up a rainy day.

Those drops give me a ray, 

a lovely case of the ocean by the wonderful East Bay.

My days grow cold,

my eyes turn bold, 

and there goes my dignity; sold.

Wow, that was something I could really consider "mold."

The pages of my heart cannot fold..

Why? Because of that sore of stings and wounds, my mind nodded away and, over the moon, it rolled.

There is no end to a miracle, 

whether its legit, fictional, or even satirical.

Hang my fragile body up on a rope, 

because apparently, that's how you keep the faith and hold onto the hope. 

Embody your blood onto its designated finger tips,

it might move mountains or sink a couple ships.

Here's to the end, 

there's to every heart that had the courage and urge to take a leap and bend.

Here's to my blood that runs moist yet grows on cold, 

there's to every warm embrace a woman could hold.

Cheers to death as a start, 

in the end, it is considered a work of art. 

A cavity of circles or a clarity of lines,

that's so much for looking at a bejeweled book and, to my surprise, it shines.

Solitude is a happy place, 

more like a myth of unexplained pace.

That's something I would chase,

It's a special knot holding you back, or perhaps, it's similar to lace;

But hey, that's something called charisma, and I could proudly say it is destiny that I would face.