Monday, August 6, 2012

summertime sadness

But the things we really want to say they cannot be said
They are absurd…kinda
What if I told you I’d make you fly?
I can, really.
You unhinged my wings, I let you, they had been coming unhinged for sometime…
But you opened them wholly, only to leave me adrift in the air, alone.
I won’t ask why, I think I know, but I’d rather pretend.
Pretending – a state of bliss, where body and mind are not in unison, mind takes over matter and makes things matter that shouldn’t…and that really don’t… or at least can’t.
And so I don’t wonder why, nor do I cry in shame…
These tears are a different form, a realization, an understanding, a longing for something that cannot be said…
I’m not usually at a loss for words, but you cut my tongue into a million pieces…
All good things come to an end they say, but what if it wasn’t said?
What if the fat lady has not sung, yet?
I see many morbidly obese people singing, and I’m not quite sure they’re the ones I should be listening for, where is this quintessential voluptuous lady?
They say, when you know you’ll know…
I always know, the problem is no one else seems to…

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