These Sunny mornings got us thinking... "someday somewhere we'll afford that luxury of relaxing"/ but until then we're pushing forward square to the walls our back's against/ the fortune is that we're fortunate enough to be aware it's happening/ thats the happiness/ the pressures the weight measured against the gravitas/ where X is the faith immeasurable by any mans algebra/ we think we've been writing this how to love/ but the reservoirs dry there's not a separate source for miles so the how to is done/ there's no manual for a man who's wills defined by the chances he'll take to find just one diamond in the rough/ when what's precious is pedestal'd but not presented for the touch/ there's simply no pretending he won't sacrifice his own flesh and blood/ and disregarding how he was regarded or discarded is the problem with tomorrows forecast/ its time we clear the atmosphere quickly/ this elephant in the room is cool but better suited to a room with a view where he can at least acknowledge the crime of being trapped in here with me/
Those overcast afternoons had us pondering... "Who actually gave value to the cumulus silver lining?"/ assuming his sense and foresight wasn't confused by his familiar climate/ we can deduce there's more than just mirrors and razors behind them/ clear of the self hatred stepping from the fog and can tell ourselves that we've made it/ unable to look back and measure how long it's actually taken/ Accept the reflection of a radiant beauty we can truthfully identify with/ Resolute enough to salute the moon's disguises/ we speak in tongues at retributions volume/ heart on a half sleeve tattooed with hues removed from silence/ The darkest of black inks that move in unison with the vibrant colors of youth until the lines blend/ and we're consumed into the timeless/ wondering how long the life lines stretch scribing freedom with tied hands shaking as her kiss moistens these dry lips/ justifying that it's just us defying the vital functions existence relies on/ the desire to survive these long lonely moments/
These pitch black evenings had me guessing/ tomorrow itself is truly only defined by it's reflection...
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A true artist always seems to present their wisdom within their abstractions in a way that will benefit themselves and those that can do something with it. I feel like this does that perfectly. eatgodeath