If he could write her off he would
Yeah and pissed-off dogs aren’t
Glaring through the fog of instinct
Though they resume their amicable ways
When craved sustenance is attained
Your instinct should be to forgo that
Sustenance and refill this draining well
The drowned child floating face up in it
Should convey this glaring truth to you
Candles burn, lights flicker, and flames
Need to breathe, but this uninnocent bystander
Wants you to pick up the shards,
Find a lost tube of crazy glue,
Walk a fine line towards the future,
And never aim to look back again.
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Do you realize that so easily I fall into a pool of pristine affection and lust, but just as easily I fall into a deeper pool of animosity? Hold me and show me the way through this perilous land of social outcasts and socially accepted coagulateing morons... hold my hair while I vomit at the putrid sight. Oblivious to anything that is real, they walk around... so artificial... so lifeless.
