I wont publish anything written by my dissected heart infected by emotions well described by our polite scentences. I've got no feelings in my words, a letter is just a symbol of nonsense crawling around on the ground though we never seem to hang in there despite our promises of monogamous visions thought by demons in our minds while we're dancing with tears in our eyes among humans who once felt the same
I wont publish my broken spirit for your sake even if it hurts because of its lonliness, cries because of its castles in the air which you just blew away derisively until my soul realises its confusion is everywhere all around forever, because my future is now and your just then, a sad memory of last season left over by bare hands and eyes wide open who see clearly,
becauseI can see clearly now
and my now is mine and it is ever changing and forever
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