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The month of June clings to my skin with its damp, all too warm grip,
The heavy hand of a sweaty palm that trails down my back and along my arms
Along my chest where this heaping tumor of frustration grows as the weeks
bleed into months, staining the seconds where I sit in my own ruins of a
tower I wanted to erect, finally, a city I wanted to build for myself
But like a rampant, impulsive toddler I smashed down with my small, bruised fists
I feel little warmth from coddling, but the sound of a heartbeat pulls me back to
what I have always yearned for - and I have, another heartbeat to hear than my own
However my existence has forced me to keep these small pockets of heaven in my dreams
When I visit the arms of another, someone I long to hold
But the love I feel now is dotted with sweat, the love I hold has mold, it reeks in my palm
Yet I only bare the stench as it matches my own
Misery loves me, misery lies in my bed every night,
and it appears that, as of recently, I am the slave of misery
a constant battle for dominance on how I will survive the day
I take no pleasure in breathing on those days where all I see is a world without end
The pendulum of happiness and complete despair swings beneath me
The chokehold that love has on me, squeezing, letting go, feeling my mind go numb, gasping for air, then drowning again.
layout by cristiana
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Tatsu0ni
Heavy hand of sweaty palm... Mom's spagheti?Möbus
Misery comes from the absence of Joy, you can love and be miserable. You can be a slave of Misery and a Devote follower of love. Even if it reeks, it's the love you have, it only needs a wash of new face.