So Here We Are

Unformatted, uncut, indecisive and tangled up.

I painted a picture of eternity upon a canvas meant for a simpleton.

I spoke with words in song using a tongue built for lovers.

And yet I cannot seem to express still, that which chisels away daily at my very heart.

"It's just paint, they're just words.
Fingers are for feeling
Fists are for beating
Scabs are for healing
And blood is for bleeding."
Name that tune!

Haha, goodnight everyone.
I hope getting cryptic is worth it for some of you.
Wordplay being my forte, I felt like weaving rhymes would better suit my time than stories that show how boring and unorigional my mental mechanisms are.

Let's see if poetry suits me.
Remeber that time I sent you those lines?

She knows who she is.
Thank you love, for reminding me who I was.

She knows who she is.