there was a beauty to it, a tainted, dirty hollow beauty that comes to rescue you when only know you need in the smallest of notions. a beauty nonetheless, and you hang on to it, no matter how destructive and wrong bringing it to fruition would be. but it's not about fruition so you're off the hook there. it's not about reality or truth so you're off the hook there. and you know the yearning won't get you anywhere, but you wonder just... how would it feel?
would it be relief? would it be sweet? would it be comfort?
and you want to fool yourself into thinking so because that's what you fantasize it would be.
but it's not. it's tainted dirty and hollow. it's the question that keeps it sweet. it's the question that creates the honeydew on the lips of asking.
it's the unmouthed confession, it's the unextended hold, it's the longing that there is relief, that it might be real if you were to make it so...
how many beds of coal are you going to walk across until you realize your feet are blistered beyond repair and you'll never feel your true footing again? it's like being in love with your own past, it doesn't hold you back when you reach out to it, it only holds you back.
you make your small steps towards it but it's like a neon sign on your forward "Warning" "Danger" "Keep off the Grass"
the way is shut. you shall not pass.