immysticamrgo

An infectious affection rots beneath my skin. A fondness of heart, blistered with averse thinking. No further am I able to feign apathetic emotions whilst you macerate my devotion, wherein my trust ruins. I strain to regard where my fatuous irrational journey, steered bleary eyed, ceased. Atrocious, fearful thoughts surmount within unimaginable dimensions. Matters of the heart indeed ailing, fill my psyche with disdain over my own persuasion and ideas. Purge these trespassing unwanted demons from my worry, lease they depart! Visions of vehement self destruction ramble within dreams of desired passion; disregarded upon realization of defeat. T

With time comes change. I don't know how to accept these gifts your death has set in motion. I'm afraid I will wake to find it all a dream. I am ashamed I fear to loose what your death has brought. I feel filthy for wanting to keep all of this knowing all this never would have happened without your death. I am guilty; I am wrong. I don't want to wake to find everything the way it was before you died. Even if I could have saved you, I know you would have died again.

Dust gathers, chaos settles in. Dreams die, but are not forgotten. A pencil for a voice, a feather for affection, a soul for a love. To know a taste of what could have been is destruction. As more time passes, sorrow smothers hope from within. Sit and listen, the voice of the violin grows more weary, more thin. More sad, more mournful as more time passes. Love had been buried, waiting to be exhumed. A delicate process which you had begun, then abandoned. Seemingly left to rot here in this tomb.