asklepiades (asklepiades) wrote,
asklepiades
asklepiades

Unfinished

As the city settles in,
It pulls our luggage closed,
We climb up to the highest heights,
We could never
let
go.

Such a pure astheticism,
Yet everything is crammed in,
Packed in, fighting for space here.

On the new day we bleed with happiness. A smile - hey, isn't that enough?
Running ragged again on the new day,
everyday,
running coarse.

That's the beauty of an idea, something,
When it's something fresh and new. You can try it on for days, or sometimes hours,
sometimes
Hitting reality right on the head.

We up all night just wanting.
The lash, the scourge, love -
By morning nothings come.

The days get longer and
The air gets thinner and
We get thinner,
Stretching out desires so thinly that
They either chip away

Or swallow us.



It is push and then its















Sweet flowers from above,
your heart is gentle but
your arms are cross











[i quit the hopes i had before]
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