My soul is captured in her stare.
Hands crippled by my craft; I am no longer a craftsman..
No longer a man of my word but I still speak with the depth and darkness of oceans.
A false Prophet.
A fools profit.
But She is far from naive and has nothing to lose.
Now she just stares and although I can no longer charm her with my craft,
My soul is captured in her stare..
..and when she closes her eyes, I’m hers.
I am not a Product of Society.
To say, think, or be told that I am means that I can:
I am a Problem.
I am a Solution.
I am an Outcome..
If the actions of One Soul in today’s society can equate to a frenzy of anger and condemnation,
The actions of Tens of Thousands Souls throughout history means that we are already in a living Hell.
Judgement Day has been and gone.
Our final minutes are a lifetime of this.
My Raindrop. You give life to the earth. You quench my thirst.
We both fell at the same time..
But You hit the ground first.
This moment has happened an infinite amount of times..
And yet, I never. See. It coming.
And I am never prepared for it.
(You) never cease to remind me that some things..
Somehow we always seem to follow the same patterns
I am always left amazed.
I love the fact you you and me aren’t unconditional.
I appreciate the fact that you stay when it gets dark.
The possibility of drifting away holds us closer together..
Our worth is not reflected in a paycheck.