I imagine it's just as I imagined it would be. A life filled with rabbit holes.
But the rabbits, in this instance, are full of apologies, filled with holes.
I imagine to be carried home tonight. As I, too, am young, like that one song said.
But the weight of my baggage has caused a wreckage, and, I can't seem to want to make my own bed.
I was fed. I'm content, and, not, filled with jealousy, love, fear, hate, and, torment that will never end.
But, the wreckage is not at all close to what I had imagined, nor, to the extent where my human hands can mend.
Traffic, so calm, in my own head.
The sound of my thoughts, not wanting to matter, and longing, to seize to exist.
Let us be honest. Nothing is as everything, and truth is not what anyone has ever meant.
So, what is the reason behind my torment?
Is it Alice? Or was she Alex, pretending to be Alice?
Was it my own thoughts, or hers, that were full of malice?
Has normal sounding words left me, or is this what I have to pay. Or say. Is this the last of my Tariffs?
To remain a soldier in a war that does not exist, because, for all intents and purposes, I die every time I call it, quits?
And be called names, for having one of my many, magical fits?
And, not being able to taste meat, chicken, and hating mints?
Whose to benefit from my death, I wonder.
Whose to blame for my never ending wonder.
To whom, should I bow down, and surrender.
If, even the cats, in the streets, pierce my armour and then sunder?
What if I am Alice, disguised as Alex, and then, pretending to be, full of hot air.
What will I ever gain, if, she's never near me, and I am never near her.
Is she all that, I wonder?
I will never find out, unless her beautiful face, finds a rest and a home, on my shoulder.
For three nights at least, and, outside, we could hear the angry strikes of thunder.
Thats when I'll know I think. I can't go wrong again, else, I fear I just might commit murder.
To the one reader, I write: will you forever remain anonymous?
Or, will you have it in you, to say the words I want to hear, this time, just between us?
To love, I officially raise, my white flag. I am not familiar with your tricks.
And quite frankly, I think I love her, whether her name, was Alice, or Alex.
Fucking hell. I think I just managed to draw up my very own Matrix.
But the rabbits, in this instance, are full of apologies, filled with holes.
I imagine to be carried home tonight. As I, too, am young, like that one song said.
But the weight of my baggage has caused a wreckage, and, I can't seem to want to make my own bed.
I was fed. I'm content, and, not, filled with jealousy, love, fear, hate, and, torment that will never end.
But, the wreckage is not at all close to what I had imagined, nor, to the extent where my human hands can mend.
Traffic, so calm, in my own head.
The sound of my thoughts, not wanting to matter, and longing, to seize to exist.
Let us be honest. Nothing is as everything, and truth is not what anyone has ever meant.
So, what is the reason behind my torment?
Is it Alice? Or was she Alex, pretending to be Alice?
Was it my own thoughts, or hers, that were full of malice?
Has normal sounding words left me, or is this what I have to pay. Or say. Is this the last of my Tariffs?
To remain a soldier in a war that does not exist, because, for all intents and purposes, I die every time I call it, quits?
And be called names, for having one of my many, magical fits?
And, not being able to taste meat, chicken, and hating mints?
Whose to benefit from my death, I wonder.
Whose to blame for my never ending wonder.
To whom, should I bow down, and surrender.
If, even the cats, in the streets, pierce my armour and then sunder?
What if I am Alice, disguised as Alex, and then, pretending to be, full of hot air.
What will I ever gain, if, she's never near me, and I am never near her.
Is she all that, I wonder?
I will never find out, unless her beautiful face, finds a rest and a home, on my shoulder.
For three nights at least, and, outside, we could hear the angry strikes of thunder.
Thats when I'll know I think. I can't go wrong again, else, I fear I just might commit murder.
To the one reader, I write: will you forever remain anonymous?
Or, will you have it in you, to say the words I want to hear, this time, just between us?
To love, I officially raise, my white flag. I am not familiar with your tricks.
And quite frankly, I think I love her, whether her name, was Alice, or Alex.
Fucking hell. I think I just managed to draw up my very own Matrix.
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