The poet will sit and contradict his own ability, as he tries to reconnect with his own morality. He is perched on the stone of distraught as he studies to recollect one of his thoughts. Honestly the poet admits that she was afraid to commit. So he submits into taking another hit for clarity. Building his vitality he notices the slit wrist of emotions which insist upon a kiss.
A poets sits to contemplate the past, wondering how long this pettiness will last. In trying to deny the truth we find the mind telling lies and the heart teaching the youth. And he knows we all have hidden tensions but hers is the cause of his lack of attention. She holds his heart like a child, while his comfort rest in her smile.
And the poet still sits wondering why love would make him nervous and push him to do stupid things on purpose. It was all in an instant and even though they live in the same city it always felt like long distance and every question he asked her is met with resistance as he offered his assistance. In her timeless existence he found what they had and there was nothing like it.
And so she sits with the poet...
A poets sits to contemplate the past, wondering how long this pettiness will last. In trying to deny the truth we find the mind telling lies and the heart teaching the youth. And he knows we all have hidden tensions but hers is the cause of his lack of attention. She holds his heart like a child, while his comfort rest in her smile.
And the poet still sits wondering why love would make him nervous and push him to do stupid things on purpose. It was all in an instant and even though they live in the same city it always felt like long distance and every question he asked her is met with resistance as he offered his assistance. In her timeless existence he found what they had and there was nothing like it.
And so she sits with the poet...