a
compilation of forgotten intentions and strange interpretations. your
own rendition of the past is the fantasy of a mind oblivious to all
that surrounds it. this situation is pathetic, it should've lasted. and
yet you took it upon yourself to shut your eyes and walk right past it.
your eyes are still shut, but it seems your mouth is wide open, in a
selfish attempt to shatter what has already broken. you hide behind
words as if the world is dyslexic. but i comprehend you perfectly.
behind your conversations of contemplation, and bullshit tribulations;
you attempt to create yourself distinctively, but in reality you're a
carbon copy of half the population. perhaps it's a convenient
coincidence. you no longer retain truth of either perspective yet you
still manage to speak with such proficiency. your bullshit? i don't buy
it. but i can't hear you anyway. just a broken record of heels on
shards of glass as an involuntary reminder, that you can't glue
together powdered pieces of a broken friendship.
