So by the way it was spiritual.
No call me crazy then...set me aside.
Shape me then. You did. I did. God did. Done yet?
Wrap our minds around the fears of you seeing me in you...never lost from the chaos or wondering how it started a massive flame. Just is...seeks justice.
Figment of real...all it is, something to ease my time served in the four walls of my flesh.
Write. Bleed. Cry. Live. Laugh. Scar. Remember this.
I belong to me now, not to scattered pieces around for taking...stealing my beauty they tried.
My mockery of trust them all, too bare to none. No, No, they may not. Be gone...seriously run away from me.
Pain, groan, purge, and reshuffle...play the ace. No poker face. I just have it, and a big grin because most of all blessed, its all become.
But glass bottled emotions had to be broken on Broadway.
Best that I was shattered and scattered, dismantled, and rebuilt by the Master crafters hands. Hands that have talent me amore.
All about the way you said to me, nothings I remember.
And I am grateful.
And there is the time of the tick tock, half crazy, half not. The rushing in of lost youth, my age there met me, whereas a teenagers delighted heart, but not decieved.
Days woe be gone, love I knew...then a new beat, and a new breath, healing slowly with distrust. Looks like a legacy of tragedy, for weve driven fear of failure and striving pride, down into the ground, as a stake that divides.
Cannot lose, cannot shame. AN always pushing child...wants first love...has big dreaming eyes. Wants amore understood first, then some sort of prize.
I say the best for you, no matter who gives...the biggest, the brightest, the one you never got. Not a leftover, hand me down, or stolen, or bought with pot. Top of the line for you, not coke!
Something I just believe whether earth or not til heaven. Been spinning straw into gold since I was about seven. Its about time I told. Its weary being odd.
Experience above and below, beyond acceptance of real , but remember the world is flat, not round...and don't tell anyone less, trust me.
We must weigh carefully who sees mutiny of the Jones' white fence...keep it up, work so hard...deposit your dirt and fight for it.
Exposure of me you sought, nullifies your stare. Inside you see, thinking internal...I saw just the same.
No I mean...I saw you brilliant. I told you it was spiritual.
No call me crazy then...set me aside.
Shape me then. You did. I did. God did. Done yet?
Wrap our minds around the fears of you seeing me in you...never lost from the chaos or wondering how it started a massive flame. Just is...seeks justice.
Figment of real...all it is, something to ease my time served in the four walls of my flesh.
Write. Bleed. Cry. Live. Laugh. Scar. Remember this.
I belong to me now, not to scattered pieces around for taking...stealing my beauty they tried.
My mockery of trust them all, too bare to none. No, No, they may not. Be gone...seriously run away from me.
Pain, groan, purge, and reshuffle...play the ace. No poker face. I just have it, and a big grin because most of all blessed, its all become.
But glass bottled emotions had to be broken on Broadway.
Best that I was shattered and scattered, dismantled, and rebuilt by the Master crafters hands. Hands that have talent me amore.
All about the way you said to me, nothings I remember.
And I am grateful.
And there is the time of the tick tock, half crazy, half not. The rushing in of lost youth, my age there met me, whereas a teenagers delighted heart, but not decieved.
Days woe be gone, love I knew...then a new beat, and a new breath, healing slowly with distrust. Looks like a legacy of tragedy, for weve driven fear of failure and striving pride, down into the ground, as a stake that divides.
Cannot lose, cannot shame. AN always pushing child...wants first love...has big dreaming eyes. Wants amore understood first, then some sort of prize.
I say the best for you, no matter who gives...the biggest, the brightest, the one you never got. Not a leftover, hand me down, or stolen, or bought with pot. Top of the line for you, not coke!
Something I just believe whether earth or not til heaven. Been spinning straw into gold since I was about seven. Its about time I told. Its weary being odd.
Experience above and below, beyond acceptance of real , but remember the world is flat, not round...and don't tell anyone less, trust me.
We must weigh carefully who sees mutiny of the Jones' white fence...keep it up, work so hard...deposit your dirt and fight for it.
Exposure of me you sought, nullifies your stare. Inside you see, thinking internal...I saw just the same.
No I mean...I saw you brilliant. I told you it was spiritual.
