You face, it haunts me. Do you have nothing better to do than wait for me down this flight of stairs; out every window I pass. My lungs are filling to the brim with things I've never said and all I want to exhale. Leave me nothing but the task to feign happiness; while my thoughts commit acquiesce and relapse into your cold embrace, but only in my thoughts. Perspicacity, I'll drown in these thoughts of you while your buoyancy continues to null my existence. Ashyxiation for two.
Objects in Mirrors May Be Closer Than They Appear.
November 21, 2009