Your touch...
Like a story unknown
Like the atheism forlorn
My being...
Embarrassed in a night’s cry
Like a shred of cloth you denied
My questions...
Lagging behind your exclamations!
My pauses..
Dreading your unkempt declarations.
I am collecting my senses from my obsession...
I will have to clean my wardrobe from longed conception...
So do we stop now?
Or start a new sentence?
And as I write, the breaks remind me
Of the dreaded future tense.
Tonight is the night that I change my hide,
My ring, my wet and my little eyes.
Tonight is the night when I change my name,
I have played enough, now I leave you untamed.
2 comments:
tonight I would like to know how imagination could be so strong that it doesn't need a real life muse? or is that the illusion?
lol..there was a time when imagination was that strong..now its as bleak and tamed as before i was pulled into an illusion..but perhaps illusions come with an expiry date..so did mine:D
but i soooo much wanna write againn darn it:D lend me your illusion if you have one;)
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