I have bled crimson - and
I have bled blue
But I have Bled the most
When thoughts of you
Come around swirling
Snaking and twirling
Leave me fucked up and what's more
It is nothing new
This torture is mutual
And if it is not
Then I must be the biggest
Fool in this lot
I wish you would end this
I wish I could too
But we're fucked up and what's more
It is nothing new
Come back my poison
I don't want to die
By the hands of life
Unfulfilled and dry
Come back and kill me daily
Like the way you used to
But you're fucked up and what's more
It is nothing new
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- suraj sharma
- my mind, therefore, becomes this outstretched field of immeasurable serenity, which, although illuminated at angles awkward and unfamiliar to my eyes - is neither dark nor twilit. The strange lighting turns the vacuous foreplay of shadows chasing shadows into an euphoric, almost utopian feeling which is held in suspension as long as this configuration of appearances beckons the restlessness of reason ever forward into the uncharted hinterlands of imagination while at the same time compelling me to bless the lighting director.
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