— nipuna (via @nipsyyy)
Dead and cold city, not asking for handouts of pity.
A witty idea, but not logical to direct it to us.
Hate written on a vanilla cake, taking our faith down where the ground surrounded by brown.
Brown lunch, cold lunch I'm hunching over to cover a forbidden lover's tears made by heteronormative fears.
When everyone turns on us, it's hell.
Lost in their Logic to put me down where my true-self never will be found.
All around an idea to be a free world of restriction while having strict friction of where the world slides.
As some keep their pride, they're in hide, lied by the people they used to confide into.
Lost in who and where they will be people, where they'll lose the feel of needles in their hearts.
It's not hard to come into logical reason, only if they would listen.
Missing the point of the world outside of old paper scripts.
Everyone is every one of them.
Every one of them who won't care to listen to new logic, not feeling apologetic.
I don't plan to let it stay, but I sure do hope that sometime on a hell-hot day, we can let children not be scared to let out their gay.
And to tell people to not always follow old scripts and to improv of who they love.
and then...
Everyone can enjoy.
"I'd rather focus on my hot, hot, hot wife." (7x09)
Shadows of Saturn
On A Lighter Note.
.
.
Your soul knows. It will always tell you when it's time to distance yourself from those who no longer align with you mentally, emotionally, physically, or energetically.