Dear Dilemma please. Pacify, sanctify, allow living, lonely
lover to explane. Bury below ample eyes of gold and glitter growing into past
portions of excuse. For reasons why. Ask twice between crimson locks. Abide by
rules not yet formed – witnessing crimson and gold glittering under yellow sun.
Monotony asks favors of fleshly fragments. So cold to the touch. For reasons unknown. Tempt the cool hand for other dimensions to pacify. A burden that one wishes to be releaved of.
Dilemma please pacify the spirit from thought. Pain for that which would be easy and gentle. These reflections hurt from within and without passion. Would never ask for truth from such feelings as these. One thing said, another meant.
Manage time worth spending.
Live, lonely lover.
And as these feelings are felt, so should they be. Wonder why and grasp at fleeing clouds for but a handful of mist to take back with you, O’ wondrous Dilemma. Not for thoughts to be transferred or tame, dear, sweet Dilemma.
Ask to receive? Golden threads to bind and banish; away with and under some other way as to pacify.
Spending time to manage.
The lover lives alone.
Explain.
As to being tortured from within and knowing that this abuse is forever. Forever and falling deeper into the demise which is love.
And so it goes. That which one may or may not have. Itches the mind. Always there. It actually was at one time, too long ago. So it might have been at another time, relative to the time which it stands now.
Time too long to take.
Wait?
Damp Dilemma descend upon mangled soul, upturned and in rapture.
Another idea to sanctify the long lasting impression of disgust. To torment. Everlasting gaze upon the stars above. Dream of these things, six feet from the surface, hands over eyes to keep out the darkness.
Two or three turns of the blade in the back, through the spine and ribs to feel the pain more fully. How many times? Dilemma plays at points not felt before, untamed and laughing from both sides of confusion.
One day is gone for time to decay in its natural state of being. Cool to the touch as if it were felt once before, some time long ago under thickets and localized understanding.
Flesh dying in the name.
Bodies under the sun, wilting in the name.
Careful steps, trotting along in the name.
Speaking once to be shut up for now and ever more in the name.
Ignored by the rest to set out alone, thinking deeply upon these countless times. Bent over the frame of someone that was once known. Plain to the touch; such Dilemmas are made of.
Countless times. Walking under parched sun into dampened night sky. Holding on for fear of letting go. Spasmodic points of being. Grave of bones pounding the mind’s eye. Submit for fear of nothing else. Cry because it’s true.
No demons to hold as final. No angels to recall your name. Empty. It is kept in back because no other place will have it. Symptom: Disorder. Punished, for it is deserved.
What they get is always what it never seems to be. To be is a fact of fiction. What is heard coats the meaning upon judgment of words which meant something some time and is new each time it spews forth from this time forward.
Drag out the bones to receive new orders from an old Dilemma; coughing out senseless commands. In the first place, the second had not shown. Secondly, the first was never there. Bones breaking and this is the mind. a piece to give.
It is killing. Cold and dead. What was the emotion? Holding back as if to give it new meaning. It is that and all is struggle. Contemporary, back bending force of will. Hold on for it never stops.
Bent over the frame of someone special, someone that was once known.
It is bad. Down the luck. Cry for it. Live for it. Bend at the waist for it. Fucked in the face of stupidity for it. In the face for all to see for it.
Damn the soul for wanting. Damn them for showing the soul the truth of wanting. Damn Dilemma for bending over someone that once was.
Face is fucked from the force of truth. Tickles the fancy for it. Forced from flame to cool water running down the back to be burnt again. Stop it again and go away. Force fucked dilemma in turmoil, tempting fate for the first to leave and the second to remain a mystery.
Counted as the last step taken. To decide, puncture the wounds and set up again to be broken down within the final hours so as to be rebuilt and demolished once more. Final step taken for sweet Dilemma to reenact those last moments: to what happened, to why it was, for reasons unknown. To explain.
Grounded firmly. Planted in a position both ill and unforeseen. Raptured hand basking in the light of the times. Hate and Anger are Holy names by which to symbolize life. The truth of our condition.
Countless times. A shadow of what it used to be. Shameful. Transpire to the greatest sleep. Dear dilemma, please.
Holding on. Firm ground under one foot, sinking in with the other.
Time is as they said it would be. Sold out for a new bag.
Dear, sweet Dilemma. If you had not covered the eyes so well perhaps they could have seen.
Hold true to bones broken at the ridge of sight, allowing little, taking it all. Slowly. Passionate? Not untrue, nor as real as it once was. and so little is as true as going slow into passion, breaking bones, and leaving little to the imagination.
It could have been better than that, the look she gave. Taken away again to find something new. Going on to brave something new. Stained once more. Again, time to cry. Dead, this something different.
Clouds, once white, tainted grey under night sky form baked sun, cracking shores of picturesque white sand. Black clouds to break up the monotony of grey. Then as blue as the heart that is kept. Slide down in to take another breath. Once more as it was said.
Dear, Dilemma. Colder now. Breaking to reign true. Ears of a dove. By sweet nectar of dear sweet Dilemma. The lover lives alone.
It could have been a better look given. Taken away so as to pierce that which had been given. She could have given a better look, presented herself better. We know what she means by the way she looks at us when we’re down. We know what she thinks of us. We know all too well.
Like love being thrown in the lap, both hands to snatch it up like well intended candy. The eyes glisten when things seem better off than they were yesterday. And what could you have seen today that would make it better than yesterday? Like love and want. If only it were true.
Sick inside, but lovely. Warm skin sweating so sweetly, to tickle the senses. This is the way it was.
Listening to the heart pump within the ribs. It flutters in you like a child. The way things should be – from within and sumptuous.
Lay on your stomach on the floor, yearning for that which once was. Again it is done as it was done with before.
Palpitation within the chest, throbbing. Parched from the sun. The sweat is all but gone. Dampened night sky.
Cast out over. Downtrodden spectator at wits end, cast out and over. Even still, slightly broken from the ordeal. At such ends for that which hasn’t even began. To think in, over, and above as a spectator. As it once was and shall be again. An obstacle in the rear view as you cross from one side to the other. Change is all that is given. This is what you have yearned for and now that it is here, it has become something else entirely. This is what you have yearned for, felt in the pit of your stomach and longed for, bled for, cried for.
Here it is, that which you have wanted. Yearned for. Bled for. Holding on for fear of letting go.
Sat shaking in the corner, risen from the floor. Legs pulled up and the arms are fit snugly around them. Care for less. This, the point in which to end the day. Over the toilet in disgust.
Holding to dear, sweet Dilemma to overcome the emotion of losing out on life. Ever searching and in need of the perfect life. Life at wits end, trying to struggle and survive.
Pulling closer as to never let go. This is your worth. This is all you have. This is it and there is no chance of letting go now. Reality foreshadowed in the light of possibility. Shaken, not overcome. Your dance for survival. This is what we know well.
Dear Dilemma dies after all this time. Holding on is an effort out of reach. This time, twisting you in the wind, alone and holding on. Now please, take this in the way of salvation. Our price to pay. Under the stars. Still in debt. Laughter as you blend away into nothing.
Monotony asks favors of fleshly fragments. So cold to the touch. For reasons unknown. Tempt the cool hand for other dimensions to pacify. A burden that one wishes to be releaved of.
Dilemma please pacify the spirit from thought. Pain for that which would be easy and gentle. These reflections hurt from within and without passion. Would never ask for truth from such feelings as these. One thing said, another meant.
Manage time worth spending.
Live, lonely lover.
And as these feelings are felt, so should they be. Wonder why and grasp at fleeing clouds for but a handful of mist to take back with you, O’ wondrous Dilemma. Not for thoughts to be transferred or tame, dear, sweet Dilemma.
Ask to receive? Golden threads to bind and banish; away with and under some other way as to pacify.
Spending time to manage.
The lover lives alone.
Explain.
As to being tortured from within and knowing that this abuse is forever. Forever and falling deeper into the demise which is love.
And so it goes. That which one may or may not have. Itches the mind. Always there. It actually was at one time, too long ago. So it might have been at another time, relative to the time which it stands now.
Time too long to take.
Wait?
Damp Dilemma descend upon mangled soul, upturned and in rapture.
Another idea to sanctify the long lasting impression of disgust. To torment. Everlasting gaze upon the stars above. Dream of these things, six feet from the surface, hands over eyes to keep out the darkness.
Two or three turns of the blade in the back, through the spine and ribs to feel the pain more fully. How many times? Dilemma plays at points not felt before, untamed and laughing from both sides of confusion.
One day is gone for time to decay in its natural state of being. Cool to the touch as if it were felt once before, some time long ago under thickets and localized understanding.
Flesh dying in the name.
Bodies under the sun, wilting in the name.
Careful steps, trotting along in the name.
Speaking once to be shut up for now and ever more in the name.
Ignored by the rest to set out alone, thinking deeply upon these countless times. Bent over the frame of someone that was once known. Plain to the touch; such Dilemmas are made of.
Countless times. Walking under parched sun into dampened night sky. Holding on for fear of letting go. Spasmodic points of being. Grave of bones pounding the mind’s eye. Submit for fear of nothing else. Cry because it’s true.
No demons to hold as final. No angels to recall your name. Empty. It is kept in back because no other place will have it. Symptom: Disorder. Punished, for it is deserved.
What they get is always what it never seems to be. To be is a fact of fiction. What is heard coats the meaning upon judgment of words which meant something some time and is new each time it spews forth from this time forward.
Drag out the bones to receive new orders from an old Dilemma; coughing out senseless commands. In the first place, the second had not shown. Secondly, the first was never there. Bones breaking and this is the mind. a piece to give.
It is killing. Cold and dead. What was the emotion? Holding back as if to give it new meaning. It is that and all is struggle. Contemporary, back bending force of will. Hold on for it never stops.
Bent over the frame of someone special, someone that was once known.
It is bad. Down the luck. Cry for it. Live for it. Bend at the waist for it. Fucked in the face of stupidity for it. In the face for all to see for it.
Damn the soul for wanting. Damn them for showing the soul the truth of wanting. Damn Dilemma for bending over someone that once was.
Face is fucked from the force of truth. Tickles the fancy for it. Forced from flame to cool water running down the back to be burnt again. Stop it again and go away. Force fucked dilemma in turmoil, tempting fate for the first to leave and the second to remain a mystery.
Counted as the last step taken. To decide, puncture the wounds and set up again to be broken down within the final hours so as to be rebuilt and demolished once more. Final step taken for sweet Dilemma to reenact those last moments: to what happened, to why it was, for reasons unknown. To explain.
Grounded firmly. Planted in a position both ill and unforeseen. Raptured hand basking in the light of the times. Hate and Anger are Holy names by which to symbolize life. The truth of our condition.
Countless times. A shadow of what it used to be. Shameful. Transpire to the greatest sleep. Dear dilemma, please.
Holding on. Firm ground under one foot, sinking in with the other.
Time is as they said it would be. Sold out for a new bag.
Dear, sweet Dilemma. If you had not covered the eyes so well perhaps they could have seen.
Hold true to bones broken at the ridge of sight, allowing little, taking it all. Slowly. Passionate? Not untrue, nor as real as it once was. and so little is as true as going slow into passion, breaking bones, and leaving little to the imagination.
It could have been better than that, the look she gave. Taken away again to find something new. Going on to brave something new. Stained once more. Again, time to cry. Dead, this something different.
Clouds, once white, tainted grey under night sky form baked sun, cracking shores of picturesque white sand. Black clouds to break up the monotony of grey. Then as blue as the heart that is kept. Slide down in to take another breath. Once more as it was said.
Dear, Dilemma. Colder now. Breaking to reign true. Ears of a dove. By sweet nectar of dear sweet Dilemma. The lover lives alone.
It could have been a better look given. Taken away so as to pierce that which had been given. She could have given a better look, presented herself better. We know what she means by the way she looks at us when we’re down. We know what she thinks of us. We know all too well.
Like love being thrown in the lap, both hands to snatch it up like well intended candy. The eyes glisten when things seem better off than they were yesterday. And what could you have seen today that would make it better than yesterday? Like love and want. If only it were true.
Sick inside, but lovely. Warm skin sweating so sweetly, to tickle the senses. This is the way it was.
Listening to the heart pump within the ribs. It flutters in you like a child. The way things should be – from within and sumptuous.
Lay on your stomach on the floor, yearning for that which once was. Again it is done as it was done with before.
Palpitation within the chest, throbbing. Parched from the sun. The sweat is all but gone. Dampened night sky.
Cast out over. Downtrodden spectator at wits end, cast out and over. Even still, slightly broken from the ordeal. At such ends for that which hasn’t even began. To think in, over, and above as a spectator. As it once was and shall be again. An obstacle in the rear view as you cross from one side to the other. Change is all that is given. This is what you have yearned for and now that it is here, it has become something else entirely. This is what you have yearned for, felt in the pit of your stomach and longed for, bled for, cried for.
Here it is, that which you have wanted. Yearned for. Bled for. Holding on for fear of letting go.
Sat shaking in the corner, risen from the floor. Legs pulled up and the arms are fit snugly around them. Care for less. This, the point in which to end the day. Over the toilet in disgust.
Holding to dear, sweet Dilemma to overcome the emotion of losing out on life. Ever searching and in need of the perfect life. Life at wits end, trying to struggle and survive.
Pulling closer as to never let go. This is your worth. This is all you have. This is it and there is no chance of letting go now. Reality foreshadowed in the light of possibility. Shaken, not overcome. Your dance for survival. This is what we know well.
Dear Dilemma dies after all this time. Holding on is an effort out of reach. This time, twisting you in the wind, alone and holding on. Now please, take this in the way of salvation. Our price to pay. Under the stars. Still in debt. Laughter as you blend away into nothing.
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