July 24, 2011

It's one of those secrets you don't know how to tell yet when it's out everything seems to be better. Only it's not. It's hard to handle when you're right in front of me. Your obligation to be apathetic. My brooding the avidity. I want things to go back to before when everything was aimless.
Maybe I'm thinking too far in. Maybe you'll understand. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe you stand for more. Perchance.
I'm breaking what's left of my bravery and dragging you directly to the center of the problem for interrogation.
I bet you know nothing about this but I can assume it is possible.
It's my lamentation to heal that contradicts and lapses. And lapses. And lapses.
Forgive me.