under construction

𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔤𝔞𝔷𝔢

𝖘𝖚𝖇𝖏𝖊𝖈𝖙

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

𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔞𝔤𝔞𝔦𝔫

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.