Post apocalyptic reconstruction was never my forte. 


A problematic situation walking the tightrope of dissolution across a canyon filled with nothing but the emptiness that I now feel for you, Do you remember the days we dreamed of a utopia? Because now all I remember is this post apocalyptic frailty we call continuation,

It started when i pulled my eyes from my skull and threw one behind me to see all the mistakes we had left strewn across the echoes of time and space that had wrapped themselves so tightly around our existence, the other into the future so I could have made sure that we could navigate all the obstacles that I fear lay ahead, 

Blindly did I believe you held onto the interests that could have best suited my needs, now I can only see the world from the words that you describe and I’m realising that our directions never ment to coincide,

Now I slowly cut off my ears and fed one to myself so I can hear my innermost desires and toss the other aside so I can never again hear the words that you cultivated as seeds that you so delicately teased into my conscious to watch the doubt slowly grow inside of me.

Soundly did I believe you held onto the notions that could have best suited my needs, now I cant even hear the words of the world you described and I’m realising it takes both to try and survive. 

Thorny

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