words only burn when the mind is hot
hot with thoughts, angry, passionate, something.
my mind is too soft,
my passion too tempered.
when angels fill ur head
its hard to get worked up.
but when ur surrounded by perfection, by purity
u feel urself a beast
birds leave the tree wanting,
wings seem a torture flaunting,
thoughts seem tainted,
grey matter turned black
and if they come down to ur level,
they may never ascend back.
must we pluck the wings from innocence
to cover up our shame,
must we dwell on anger's resonance
when its casing is to blame?
i'll find a way to speak the truth
without ribbons of prose
but until then, my words, forsooth
are as cliche as a rose. =P
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