Untitled

Drifting and sinking into a ship of delicious objectivity,
I can't contain the refrain of dripping sadness.
Brazing the graze of decisions and fate
to solder the happiness with the pain.
Tripping through molecules of my mind,
the beat repeats,
and I crave sleep.
Dying to be surrounded by an ocean of love,
living to be surrounded by lies.
Fake.
Great.
I'm lathered in gold and the night is bronze,
sterling.
They stare so deep into what I am,
what seems grand,
is all a sham.
Now the night is blue,
and I'm coated with hate.
Regret.
I can't seem to shake the grandeur of what you think I am,
until I break.
Upon a crooked pedestal
rests the foot of control
pushing forward to madness.
I can't help but be inspired
by the idea of an untrue lover's lover.
She is all I thought I was,
and everything I hoped to be,
before I was left in uncertainty.
My extremities excrete pheromones of simplicity.
My insides bleed for forgiveness amongst an insane rainbow
of motives, decisions, and actions.
Clarity is never as clear,
as weightless,
or as beautiful in reality.
Control seeps into a lack of reaction,
deepening the wound of sadness
brought about by the discovery of demented decisions
before understanding their purest intention.