..as long as I know that you wont."
The prettiest skies are capable of holding a thousand eyes. Why do we shuffle through the lows only to run through the highs? As are the prettiest girls who tell the ugliest lies. We are all capable if made unstable, it seems, of unstitching the fable on the kitchen table at witching hour.
A girl I met; a work of both nature and nurture. Discussed the benefits of snapping a picture of everything beautiful she encountered, as so if anything was to hurt her she could find solace in the pixels. She was no duchess, no; just a mistress to a curious heart--we spoke of love and how life often tore it apart. Building blocks leveled by one hundred centiliters. When I looked to her mind all I saw was a lens, for this reason, as much as she seemed to be willing to depend, she was incapable of holding me--she didn’t make it easy-flattering me as I crawled and clawed myself free: scared beauty is such a tragedy.
A friend of mine with such pain, his medication does something I can’t explain. A man of routine, he wakes, goes to work and then straight back home again as if to dance around disdain. But sometimes in sleep or maybe as little as a day dream, events unfold that are untold, they hold no recognition; they can not be seen. To this day, he holds a camcorder steady and calls it his mission, to crack his case and every night he screams “Deity, let me fall, I am ready.”
Much like the musician in me; they’re both hoping to hell that their instruments hold some kind of truth. We relate; neither of us are ready to drop such an addiction, even if it renders us blind it’s still an addiction, you see: we all hope to die happy by betraying duty with beauty.
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