There's a radioactivity to your blood,
a defining attribute to your skin:
a slight pallor and sultry disillusion.

You attempt to MASK it with the ink that mars your smooth Carapace:
Circumventing; twisting; black, and blue like that something lost long ago with your first fall,
the vestiges of which still beat solemnly in time to the
thumps against your chest.

Now, with the radioactivity to your blood
you're forced to recognize that time lost--
the time spent groping and hoping in disdain for a pardoning to the inexplicable ache--

Because you don’t know that you’re breathing until there is something
to rely on that smooth undulation—
Because you’ll miss it when
IT'S GONE

With your crooked-tooth smiles and wise intonations:  the microphone wraps and coils and twists, binding
you to your modern pillory—rending you hapless--
questing for An Insincere Smile & A Charming Repose

Back in the time when you were not so tired--
when bleached blonde strands didn't Wither and Decompose.
Your hair was your  favorite attribute, back in the time when you were only comfortable
in pastel bruises and the swaying of your hips...

And maybe when you’re not so tired—down and exhausted—maybe you will account for all those things you’ve lost—all the lost moments in which you spent down and departed—despaired and ambiguous, lamenting the past and in scorn of the future.

You scream about the time in which you were so lonely,
And in all probability, you still are.
Because in the beginning he understood, could identify
with the exasperated notions.

Now, though, the meaning becomes eclectic
and tired and wasted on an anger unsatisfied and never dormant.
Scream & Live & Persevere

Cause there is an ephemeral way in which he reaches  for the sky:
Dry and negligent and wishing for the one thing that he’d been
deprived of for so long--
Here's some water for the dead tree.

Your arms around my waist present an incredibly stifling feeling―around my lungs, my heart, my mind, the feeling an unparalleled reminder of those things which we can't help but take for granted―the minute hugs, the minute chances... all indispensable reminders of our losses and unfixable fatigue. Because the feeling won't leave you―will never leave you―it's the most steadfast of companions―the unwanted affliction.

A collective of musings written using the sometimes present tool of spontaneity. Why? Because "Lorem Ipsum" is terribly boring.

LOWER YOUR HUMIDITY AND DERIVE SOMETHING DIFFERENT, SOMETHING CONTROVERSIAL--EXPONENTIAL.
( constant inhibitions )