I have lived for years in the light of your infectious smile, have vowed to try one more time, remitting every indiscretion securely to the past, not to be pried apart or spoken of as I don’t feel relativity will stop the tension and verbal abuse, violence erupting unwittingly before a call of "truce".
I will faithfully revise your face to what I see in the mirror, a prisoner to this winter of wills where everyone loses and nobody wants to give. We’ve open warfare upon the psyche, Leaving the pain intact and panging, a window of opportunity, the soundtrack of your life singing sweetly as bodies pile up by the door.
You’d rather fight than ever be captured, retain your freedom whatever the cost, regardless of any impending loss, giving up with a grin what you said was your dream, wishing it all away unseen, to wipe the slate clean before deep sleep, to fall through that crack in the sky, the drawer where you keep your emotion, and then carry on like you don’t give a damn.
But when you see through everything you end up with nothing, and lack of love is a cold bedfellow indeed, similar to this overrated reality.
