Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Untitled- Timy Plurrazzelo

Its taken 17 years,
just to piece together peace
i've endured too many arguments
i've conquered a thousand demons through
my speach, and the hardest sound to filter out
is the sound of your voice torn, between the loving
voice of sanity and the fearful hymn of scorn.
The prime perspective in your partial hate,
is nothing to be looked upon. The echoes in your
ears have produced puddles in the driest of storms.
The drought of my feelings has left me crippled in this
aging life, the trite conditions fall upon my soul each time
i meet those eyes. It boils down to situations, past and present
hate. I try to build you up with pride, but that forms to nothing but
mistakes. And i'll apologize to you, i sware on everything i know.
I try to keep myself inline, but fall out too quickly from the twist
and turns. I wish to thank you sometime soon, for every line you
have inspired, though you must hate this loving game, we play till
death for it is what we will ever know.

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