What If Things Were Better Then, When We Were Wrong?

Summer's gone, we're leaning on
A gleam of Sartre. Live it all.
Leaves are falling. Grim is dawning.
How could you run and leave me under?

Slowly walk into your eyes.
Solely breaking through your ice.


Written for Perfect Tense. For those who ran and those who were left.

 

Something, Something.

A chance of resolution comes up with a silence, an absence, along with someone new.
The distance, a rift of something blue. Sends away the jaundice over you.
One raw imagination released the endearment, it's concealment. Another towards you.
Ambition makes you look no fool. Hide away in behind what you can call 'conviction'.

You never said them all without being honest and modest; having so few clues.
My instincts: never bulletproof. Curved and blurred. Another thing that's true.
My new Cotard Delusion is absent with impulsion, inclusion. I should've stopped the coup.
Resentment: it's been long overdue. Overgrew the values that we've been holding on to.

I would say that you are to afraid to say the least that you felt something; that we had something.

Have you felt something? Did we have something?


Written for Perfect Tense. For you who kept me awake at night.