She gave me her heart and everything below it..
Above all, her mind..
..she kept for herself.
That’s why I love her.
She asked me if she should put the word out, now that I was coming home..
.. I don’t know why.
She knows my prose is addictive..
She knows I spit fire.
She knows my questions burn and will never be extinguished.
I’m never coming home.
“…part of me was happy that you were beginning to see the truth.
Part of me longed for the sweet ignorance that made you the way you are…
…the part that swore to shield you from the depravity of society“
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.