Awaiting everything to happen slow, wondering why life ain't a love song, why not at least a lovable song- the chords vary but the knots do not. Neither the nods nor the prods vary as well. Words better out than in, verses born out of a torn destiny, neither have any variety. A riddle once relayed, over time the native tongue is now riddle. Anything stirring the heart nowadays rings far too long.
In the wait for the clock to reverse, that moment of fret has gone too far. Melancholy is the new melody that is not chocolaty. Happiness with eyes closed, hunting for nights lost, some spaces unfilled, are the voices still grilled? Those dreams unite, which true love failed to. That one sight of awe redefines vision, blinding common sense.
How can a heart made to love contain such hatred? ...........................
Unfinished and closed... -rPhoenix
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