eisadia-didi

Your voice reminds me off coffee-cup stains on the counter-top. You know, the ones that we tried to sand out all those; ages ago? It makes me think of metal contacting metal and resounding. Sometimes I think you were born in the apothecary, and simply stepped out onto the street. Your voice was made for chapel hallways and cavities. The empty and echoing hallways that make up the ribs of the carcass. I often wonder if maybe you put on an accent from every part of the world; I wondered if you'd try just for me? And yet you sound so at home wherever you are – your voice could placate the most rabid of the beggars who assaulted wandere

The sound peals off of your softened corners and peaks in you shallows. It ebbs with your flow and you flow for it. A cadence you cant see is overpowering you as the beat takes hold. The sound shatters off of the crystal of the candelabra and sweeps you up. It holds you and spins you you round and round and round and round. Twirling and giggling with you like it wants you for good. You cannot helo but feel it pulling up from inside of you. You want it. Inside of you and flowing. The music is a feeling. Beauty encompassing light. Sweet as it peals off of the razor edges of those surrounding you. They are invisible and you reach you hands up

Its like a rhyme. I breathe, and you mist... the sunday reflections pull my strings and voices sound as you shatter the light just like you always have. It helps, some days, to have an ear to lean your voice on. You hear me but do not reflect me as you should. I think about it but I cant seem to see through. The sweetness that is your icy embrace gives me courage and chisels my faults upon inhalation. I paw at your crystalline surfaces and absorb your emotionless frivolity and you give me a rainbow with every colour. You burn my eyes and make my fires... I want you to sing with me like nails on chalk board, I silver you and reflect you in m

It was anything but upright and you never took it the right way. I wanted you to be pretty but you pushed my directions away. You were slanted in your frivolity and bereft of a conscience. I wanted … lots of things that you never gave and never would. Because your world is contorted; fractured. Just like your mind; crooked. It was one of those days, when you were bending over backwards for your world, that it came to you. It fell for you. And you caught it just like you always did. And it left you just like you always were. Sideways bent and peculiar.