My Body

Something everyday I tell ya what...
I thought that maybe we were doing something wrong...
Maybe we were wrong.

It felt like we were flowers meant to blossom, but it never happened...
And the Sun had become disgusted by our truancy to follow nature.

Then I picked my head up last night to her soft cries.

We did blossom and nothing was wrong at all.
My body was already a vessel holding a legion of echoes calling out past mistakes;
now more than over, I felt the sting from all those foreign lips.
I hated myself more than I've ever.

Her eyes bled heat, becoming less puffy as I finally regained my composure.
"This was suppose to happen"...now I know.
It isn't me rationalizing an unusually situation,
I feel you only rationalize if you are the wrong-doer.

We got this, as usual.
And for my body? Well, it still wont quit,
not on you, not on me, not on us, and certainly,
not on life.

Later Days