𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔤𝔞𝔷𝔢
can't shake the disease in my veins
there's some-one in me that begs for it
subject to my soul, warped by Real life
got a princess complex and a fragile crown
always make myself smaller, test how bored you get
less risk if you only know my body
Always, always, I long to carress some spectre
my heart yearns for a union with one; diaries mark a life time of dreaming of it
but the older I get, the more I think god has played a cruel trick on me
i see him, i see synchronicities that mark some fated love
and then some convuluted existential splitting breaks the bond, physical distance breaks down the power of flesh love
I wonder; of all the men that have been in present-time with me and offered the material benchmarks in pragmatic periods I think I want:
but don't stir up the ethereal passions spilling out my ears
if I myself was home in my head, if I did not have this magnet in my soul pulling me to wade in limbo forever
would I be happy? do I just love to desire? The object of desire, forever at a distance - am I possessed with desire so much that I unconsciously elude permanent bonds?
but I want so badly for someone to see me, hold my hand, to know me.
dissonance always haunts the relations between men and women.