The Cynic Communtity

 Brain-dead responses ~Miss A. Moving on to shut the eyes, waiting for you to close the distance, They say to think of postive things before going to bed,  So I try to hold the image of your face, to hide it like a good story in my memories, And I'm brain-dead, nothing exists, no thoughts, no melodies, just you. Stagnant in my vision as a reason to keep on living, a reason to cherish life, And suddenly I find myself those green forests, hugged by mist, and lakes Potentially cold, and forst biting, but burning in my breath like a born fire. But I feel something irritating, an anxiety, and I look at my palms, shaking,  What is that I am missing, for something was there which I was holding with my all, This place seems like paradise, but instict tells me the moss would eat me up, The strong smell of rotting wood, feels as fresh as the lemon jest, even as I lay down, trying to connect to the soil, I can't rest. What is it, what is it, spins my head, what, where, who; and I feel the

 E.E. ~Miss A It's all going in a perfect flow in your eyes, But every word you speak is spoken so blindly, I thought I cry alone, this world is a place so lonely, But damn you weather, always with me. Bullets pass through you, but blades cut deep too, Can't underestimate one based on it's size, Not even sure, with what this free bird is caught, No wounds, but it hurts so bad, feels like internal bleeding. I'm no good, and with the way it's going, I'm upto no good, I used to think, I would grow up beautiful, But the lines on the forehead are deepening, It's all beginning to get all chapped. Don't know what they designed in the lines, But it's not what I asked for, but I'll take your knives, Cut my own lines of fate in my palms, This won't hurt as much as destiny would, right. Blood is an expensive escape, or is destiny, Blood, then who's? Too many things to say at once,  It's sewing my lips into a pristine line. Maybe a letter with bl