Guilty

I’m not a perfect creature; I mistakenly care too much. I’m the disembodied voice in life, with the cataclysmic touch.

For years I have walked this earth, edified by many who’ve been and gone. I’ve been hustled, I’ve been played and good Lord have I been torn. 

I will not preach and I do not judge, although far too many do. For many things I am guilty, one is hopelessly loving you. 

I do not believe in perfection, for it’s an inflated morons myth. Your translucent eyes shift and pull, like the waves that fight a cliff. 

And I fell… right into you. 

I will never be the holy grail, the fucking saint within a church. I’m imperfect, sporadic and as flawed as hell. All of these and more you’ll find, need all you do is search. 

If falling in love with you is forbidden, throw a noose and let me pay my dues. Fuck your cosmetic shades, and your impossibly complicated views.

You’ll never find a love quite as pure, yet so dangerously tainted. I’m selfish, so selfish… On death row I’d take you with me, even against your protests. Guilty as sin, ruled the plaintiff. 

Divided chance…

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Secondhand serenade;

their music echoed through the night.

Bleeding the need to feel warmth;

lonely shadows haunted by moonlight. 

Divided chance,

restricted by the decree of choice.

Through illicit chemicals,

that imperfect human finally found her voice.