What do I do of this fame, as I don't consider myself worthy,
This over flowing wine has got me grief struck
It's tides wash down my receptive capabilities
And I can never be that tree who let's itself dessicate to it origin,
And to my loved ones
Your eyelids enclosing my image and yet I can't penetrae in,
Your throat screaching my name and yet I can't talk to them,
It seems, that you fill me and yet this hollowness possess me.
I'm entitled to showing but not being,
Barging with masks all-around.
For thy, don't lay your hands upon me,
Becasue I choose solitude by preference.
This over flowing wine has got me grief struck
It's tides wash down my receptive capabilities
And I can never be that tree who let's itself dessicate to it origin,
And to my loved ones
Your eyelids enclosing my image and yet I can't penetrae in,
Your throat screaching my name and yet I can't talk to them,
It seems, that you fill me and yet this hollowness possess me.
I'm entitled to showing but not being,
Barging with masks all-around.
For thy, don't lay your hands upon me,
Becasue I choose solitude by preference.
No comments:
Post a Comment