My head is a mess, and any attempts to rearrange have me fret and further complicate, crawl down the throats of weaker things, around heartstrings and struggle to escape. Neither fault nor ill fortune quite sate my need to explain why of all the patience’s I’ve known none have sat with each and every of my ghosts. It’s bigger than this, I’m confronted with infinite cycles I’m helpless against and I wish it would end. I recovered; I befriended my future and ex lovers. I rebuilt everything that I’d burned. It takes nothing less than years to overcome and lay to rest these fears, I fear are returning once again. I can see the signs. Your eyelashes give you away, and though we’re meant to be in love we lie uncomfortably awake. I can tell you aren’t content as they drag like forks across my chest. I can’t deny the rains that follow me. I can’t refuse the floods that they bring. These changes rush over you like waves and I can only see your face for one split second before it’s lost again. The old pride are fractured and they’re falling apart, and though they coalesce at times they never crystallize in full. I’m aging and I’m still no further from what the old prides have always helped me rise above. Though we compete with our penitence and how visible it is; we both know that life livers get bored of these same story lines, that repeat like old fashioned nursery rhymes falling from a million mothers’ lips every night, so sin sinners you’re in neither our hearts or our minds.
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