The pitted trumpet soar. Two ding in C minor and the letter open. It begins with memories ransacked. Then It cascades and forms two world apart. The rusty knife left on the table while two men gaze in the each other eyes.
The silence is broken with definite question about the double lust.
I heard it clearly that if I want to play the game, I will be succumb in the purgatory. My heart will be blackened and may the grim-reaper secretly begin the work. But no courage is idle. it’s a big lie and I will demystify it.
You left me in despair again. And I address you a simple question like why it’s really fucking hard even just to scent the reality.
I hardly recall the smell of cheap cigarettes the last time you whisper in my ear of proposition.
It’s a killing game I know, but I will do it anyway for the sake of truth in life that have been besieged years ago.
The answer I believe lies entirely on your predicament. Maybe you’ll find it under your miserable guts, or if you got a chance to look into the debris of sugar you left in the coffee table a minute ago.
I doubt you grasp the idea. You stuck on the world of wonder, and there’s no believable words that I can rhyme.
I ponder love, the thing that I have no courage to step in,
the answer that I seek while the clock ticks backward,
the sad melody that weeps through restless night,
the old sacred verse that people still chant.
You have never taught me any of those piece of shit anyway
I’ve grown to understand that everybody got phobia of romance.
It silently creeps while I made long telephone call to my psychiatrist. I told her that I am in a great danger of losing things that I already knew. Like the notion who barely derails from old story: why child always do against what their parents forbid…