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always.There are times whensuch disturbing thoughtsmake their way across myweary sleep deprived mind.Such thoughts that beckonme to stop fighting against mydesire to surrender and allowmyself to slowly succumb to It.It is and It would be nice. Thateternal sleep that awaits theend of my journey-- slipped intobefore the fates dictate that I may.But, I am halted before Iam able to further ponder It.I realize that this vessel is not mine.No. Not mine alone, for it belongs tomy family, my friends, acquaintances.My vessel was never mine at the start.It would be utter selfishness were Ito be tempted by the Siren that feedsme those disturbing thoughts and playpuppet to her deathly saccharine words.My life belongs to you all;by nature and by choice.
felt.The pain of it against this skin,whipped raw by hands of wind,means nothing if I can not feel.This bitter cold cannot compareto the bitterness of your lips. Orso it is, were I still able to taste.I lie with my eyes open, here.It won't be long 'fore this vilepoison extinguishes this flame.Your love baffles me sometimes. . .
reckless.I'm sick of hiding behind all these fancy words,spewed recklessly-- without a single thought.
mind's eye.Behind your glassy eyes,what is it that you see?Your lovely lackluster stareseems to delve deep intothe darkest depths ofeach and every consciousness.Of each and every consciousnesscaught in your eternal gaze,you send them off lost in a daze,a never-ending curse of curiosity.Your smooth skin, luscious lips,elegant emerald eyes, colorless cheeks,the perfect pale porcelain that finely formsyour vessel, brought to life by soft sunlight.Painstakingly painted with much precision.and molded by loving hands marred byageless years, your features holdtrue to their promise made.Silently, silently, sitting stillupon the crimson velvet, set'neath the rosy oaken shelvesof books ne'er touched nor read.So sweet, so seductive you are, nota word escaping your lips, painted red.What is it that you see,behind your glassy eyes?