Acidic Adventure

Acid dreams, ends to meet, we live in phosphorescent times,

Echoing voices down the hall, calling to me in dark, simple rhymes.

I see you in a blur of color which logic will sickly distort,

Dominance and desperation as your last resort. 

Melting and dripping, the hues shine to shatter at our feet, they cut,

Bleeding through colors of memories with everything but. 

A piece of what remains is missing and it's not your face that I'm kissing,

In need of greed, craving too much too soon, thinking and wishing. 

That the face I'm kissing was a faceless clue,

That all that is not obtainable includes you. 

Desperate Times

I hope I remain as easy to forget when it's really time to do so. Some of us make it in life, some of us don't make much, but are still perfectly content with that, and some us will always remain in a state of wandering—searching for the sole reason it all went to shit in the first place. I am most likely categorized under the latter of the aforementioned scenarios. What this means for me can only be measured in terms of bleakness and sheer desperation cloaked by bravado.