The best things in life are never rationed
and yet I feel as though love has been portioned for me
my icy rage only gashes at
the open wound of wishes
And that wound only bleeds out words til nothing is left but a
empty carcass that possesses no inspiration
stenches the air with such smell that the world abhors it
The non-creativity, non-energy and non-presence leaves stains on your
clean white shirt
The shirt you were going to wear tonight
The best things in life are never rationed
yet the only thing dear to me has been
taken
a glorious death of praise
and I am left to catch the crumbs of disguise
and yet I feel as though love has been portioned for me
my icy rage only gashes at
the open wound of wishes
And that wound only bleeds out words til nothing is left but a
empty carcass that possesses no inspiration
stenches the air with such smell that the world abhors it
The non-creativity, non-energy and non-presence leaves stains on your
clean white shirt
The shirt you were going to wear tonight
The best things in life are never rationed
yet the only thing dear to me has been
taken
a glorious death of praise
and I am left to catch the crumbs of disguise
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