*anjelicdarkness

Thy cursed heart. I foresake you.
You bind me so.. to that which I must not forgive. Your ways that which are unconvincial and unrealistic.
How must I appease you? In this idiocracy, unapathy. The needs that tye you to your dreams.
Wants that are that which hopes. Lucid daydreams of foriegn illistrations and timeless ages.
Awaken and revive I pray of thee. Dowse yourself in realism and home land. Dreams and just.
Live I ask of thee. Mend thy self and become something more than what has bestowed upon thee.
Know not what is aparent, yet by that which will become. Spread thyself amongst thee ashes and cinder there.
Upon past and revelations, lessons and learned knowledge of truth. That which will come may thee come.
Learn this enlightenment given to you. What is realism is not necessarily just or true.
Roads bend and fork, winding and turning to our own sacred path. Every step along is chosen by thee and recieved,
in reaction and dispostition. Do not close off sacred gates and hinder innocense. Instead yet return in
hopes of manner and boiniency. Revive theyself upon the will of beauty. There in there still lyes a time, a chance.
Listen to the sound now, the music sings for thee. Open yourself to a brighter moment. A memory.
The darker moments won't tye thee to unspeakable bounds. Free yourself from restraints of inner tourmoil.
You are a feather amongst the wind. Flowing ever so lightly on the drifts of angel's song.
Become that which is speakable and unending. Sew the peices together thyself. There is no seamstress for you in which
might ammend a just sacrafice. Only you know the wound to which needs mending.
Float now, unafraid of the unforseen. Let it go as you drift upon the breeze of an angel's breath.
Might there be dark clouds ahead, there is still always a brilliant breeze none the less.

You beat so harshly and deeply. Noth which most may understand or care to listen.
Unchanging, unending, so diligent in your wants and needs. Sacrafice would be to take a peice of you.
To change thy rythym as it were in such a dieing fashion. Though I beg of thee to consider the risks.
How is it to know what could be, without a chance? Might thee be able to mend in the slightest. Even still,
when something is torn, it is never the same. It remains weak and fragile at the seam. Though it can be fixed,
the tear is never forgotten. How such is life! Every tear, every mended piece, that which may have been mended,
are yet still so fragile and watched over. Gaurded as it were. Preyed upon even by some.
There are dreams of others fufilling your wants, but not which are true. Many have dreams of being something to someone.
Every person strives to belong to something. There are shadows amongst these illusions of swept away words and hopes.
On my knees, I scream to thee! You are not their prey! You may have many stitches but you are not that which is broken!
If you act weak and helpless, others will percieve you as such! Every thing in nature has scars. True strength is the
ability to over come such. Not directly ignore, yet allowing acceptance and on looking towards the healing.
You may fall, but what charactorizes us is the ability to get back to our feet and ourselves.
So with much advisable consideration, I converse with you now. In private, lets us speak upon our own future.
May we say that there might not be what is always beautiful in thee. Though what is percieved by one or few to be dark,
may just be a deeper level of passion. That which cannot be explained by many, only to those that hear its song.
A beauty amongst the harshness of thorns and disbelievers. Criticsm and hypocritical judges of true beauty and unspeakable
knowledge to which they denied themselves. Sad songs on the wings of ravens. Carried by tears of lorn lovers.
You as well have carried many of these thyself. With every blink a new harshness of reality and sinking hopes.
Though the flame must not burn out. The pit you feel now, the emptiness, that is love in itself is it not?
You can not feel hurt with out love. So there in that is your hope. You can still love.
You are still alive. Make thyself believe. The truth is simply that which is aparant. It may not be granted with pitty,
but it is there none the less. Lessons learned over time, even if you have dealt with the same over ages.
The truth still lyes. You are alive. You can mend, and be reborn. So revive now once again. Strive for what you beleive
is true and in your hopes you with thrive.

Dreams may just be that. Though who is to know, unless you go after them and try?