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we must never stop watching the sky
with our hands in our pockets
Created on 2006-03-03 03:01:47 (#9668116), last updated 2009-02-26
67 comments received, 214 comments posted
Basic Account [Gift]
49 Journal Entries, 1 Tag, 0 Memories, 0 Virtual Gifts, 3 Userpics
| Name: | tired of making excuses. |
|---|---|
| Location: | one great city!, manitoba, Canada |
my big excuse
i am defining my secrets slowly
but the stardust still falls
into my eyes
blinding me to the sight of
forgiveness in every direction
(i'm not big on making
excuses for you anymore)
and you should understand why
but i don't think you do.
my life is turning sideways
i'm paranoid of falling
harder and faster then before,
(i still want to make excuses for you)
but that doesn't change the present
and never will-
sometimes when the house is silent
i can hear the house moving
the wooden floors and attic creak
and i'm still for a moment.
remember the lines we used to
reassure ourselves?
the, i'm not even beautiful in the right kind of light.
when the sunlight would spit in your face?
i wonder where you are now,
if you're still cutting yourself up to pieces
if you still write poetry that i miss
getting in my inboxes
i miss your voice calling me darling
and i always remember that night
watching the moon, sitting ontop of
rocks at midnight. (the beauty of the sadness)
i'm loosing the beauty with the sadness.
it's as if everything is stopping
it's as if i'm loosing myself (complete me).
i am defining my secrets slowly
but the stardust still falls
into my eyes
blinding me to the sight of
forgiveness in every direction
(i'm not big on making
excuses for you anymore)
and you should understand why
but i don't think you do.
my life is turning sideways
i'm paranoid of falling
harder and faster then before,
(i still want to make excuses for you)
but that doesn't change the present
and never will-
sometimes when the house is silent
i can hear the house moving
the wooden floors and attic creak
and i'm still for a moment.
remember the lines we used to
reassure ourselves?
the, i'm not even beautiful in the right kind of light.
when the sunlight would spit in your face?
i wonder where you are now,
if you're still cutting yourself up to pieces
if you still write poetry that i miss
getting in my inboxes
i miss your voice calling me darling
and i always remember that night
watching the moon, sitting ontop of
rocks at midnight. (the beauty of the sadness)
i'm loosing the beauty with the sadness.
it's as if everything is stopping
it's as if i'm loosing myself (complete me).
Interests (92):
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