The contemptuous glare you drill into the world. Expecting water, when you have not an ounce of passion in you.
Thirst and dehydration are friends, they are the constant intervals of your life.
Time tends to trip you up, do you not have any clue you were scrubbing the same stain for hours?
You're made a victim out of, because you allow it.
You're dreadfully unmotivated because you have waited for too long.
You're settling for the rotten ignoring the seeds and true work of your hands made to sustain it
I am not here to be your advocate.
I am not here to be your favorite song
I am here- just to be
You're constantly fighting your existence, sad as it may be.
The veil you wear over your eyes excitedly, that fuels dreams of wants not needs, can only be reminded by you, not the empty words of a misunderstander like me.
The work of a dream, of immense vehemence you receive just from the thought has not you in it.
Wearing the face of happiness, to trick the universe and yourself.
The mirrors in which you deplete your image, in which you've bound yourself in, knows not the look of herself, but the face of the world you think rejects you.
That flickering tongue of yours, and fake laugh that moves nothing but the chained force in you.
Is simply afraid of beauty- of oneself.
You're beautiful. And enough.
You know not what you see in yourself, therefore you know nothing of what you want in the world.
You've adapted yourself well, to the mystery of life, only if you didn't refute what you are so essential in making.
