i often wonder why i continue to be afflicted; the echo of a broken self embedded in jadedness, perched on pococurantism and yet fervent to venture beyond wavering sparks of romantic idealism. such a great trepidation that impels the latter, it shrouds me in greater bewildered consternation of myself - then, now and later.
you are so unfair. dont tell me life was never fair to begin with. maybe words were lavishly delivered because they will ultimately divest themselves of meaning and promise.
don't you understand the damage you have done
to you it's just a memory, but for me it still lives on
still lives on. and i still will be ok.
