The sun is by my side tonight. And burn the cold off this skin, ive never met the ocean like I did that day.
The expectations of time always get the best of me. When we look in her eyes --speechless. No words to justify how many hours in a day we spend dwelling on these little things that drown our hearts in start and rip them all apart. And somehow I don�t think Ill live to see tonight. Mark my words by the very lips that make them-- I was anything more than this.
Faith.
For the most apart, I forgave myself for ever wishing more from my apparition to the world. And the steps you take away tonight, take to my car the longest spectacles of dream plastered to the ground.
Because of this- I am here and then gone. You write about me in your diary and so, I write myself off.
I remembered that face--always. Shinning back at me from the colder side of room. Begging for the intensity of character the wounded lacked. And so I got out. I wanted so to distance myself from it.
I never forced it upon myself. But I apologized too often.
So i drove away from sunset. Nothing but I and the world, captured in a simplistic box of glass lining about four feet across the two feet below. Speed. The getaway heat. It blemishes my skin and gives hope for new dreams.
And so the aftermath--
I feel its knife in palm. And though it pains me to do so, I tend to pull it inward to fascinate the blood dripping down my skin. Look into my eyes and die by nightfall--you murderer. There will always be a better at this.
And in the end, he'll make man.
And man will cry himself to sleep.