Imagine the layers of ourselves, Gnawing at our very insides. Picture the mess of emotions, Crawling dangerously amok. Passing by what could have been, Is life always like that?
by: Ingenue at: 1:02 PM
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Thursday, September 25
Whiffs of smoke and dirt that remain within What a rancid possession Worry of life's little trials and tests What a foul disposition So bobbing up and down the surface of truth Seeing is believing Nostalgia of distant and cold reminiscence Let's just let it cease now
by: Ingenue at: 11:07 PM
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If the mere thoughts were vapour, What more could the if's be? An array of overdue wants, Amassing the life of me.
Lonely beings of many if's, Survival is our livelihood. Discontent may punctuate, But what else is any good?
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