Ace Of Black Hearts
As The Words Begin
Meeting on the moon.
The wish of sometime soon.
Only if the capturing of the soul wasn't so interwoven with so much pain and agony.
It was never meant to be imprisoned in such a way.
Whisper upon all the uncertainties.
A heart put upon a dart board as if it was game.
And in that moment of fleecing and piercing, does one ever stop to think what happens if I get tired of it and it is left to rot?
Too young for the broken.
Too old for the first.
If inner desires ring true this time may be worse.
Compassion for those who only need it.
This is the weakness of the vulnerable.
Emotions on the sleeve.
Screaming help me.
Make it stop.
But what is it we really want?
Sometimes we just don't know.
And we feel only contempt those who do.
All figured out in a single moment of glee.
Sorry but you just too god damn happy.
Nothing like a glass of freshly brewed hot tea.
Would you like cream and sugar with it?
No please, it was never meant or suppose to be so sweet.
Purpose isn't defined by pure intention.
That is not how it works.
It is ever changing in the constant awakening in which live.
From one moment to the next.
Making something simple out of the ever so complex.
Not in a way to be you thought would be understood.
But instead in a way of bringing it to the here and now.
For with a presence given, words become musical instrument that needs and wants to be played.
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Edgar Allan Poe
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