counting minutes like they are seconds

I've heard that there is this certain and particular little femme,
who is look out through eyes that have this kind of natural purifying lens.
Gathering the good like it's a harvest treasure, and facing all that is sin as though blocked, or maybe blind to it, like using an umbrella for the simple purpose of shield from the gloomiest weather. She'd rather marvel the rainbow that occurred as a result, than lament the rain that in return had to pour onto us.

A morning wasted fully- but that's okay, that's fine, and it's completely dandy- because it's in the afternoon that she is in her rising glory.
While she's not as educated as she could be, she does her best to fit herself to whatever it is she's lusting when she says, "I want this, I like this, I need this". Her aspirations lead to academic paths, as well as to these dreams of becoming something like a global Pocahontas.

A beautiful Mother Theresa, a colorful Winston Churchill.
It's a sad sentence to adhere to, to only be able to live out just one monogamous life, especially since she just won't be nothing but them all.



On the weekend when he would rather crack a bottle, she'd be happier if he would instead just crack a smile, but you can't expect too much from any other regardless of the commitment to each other.
You know this, and it'll fill up the disappointment when you want to talk, and he just wants to kiss.

It's a fact of knowledge in the common and in the brain dead, that the flowers are beautiful and the flowers lay in their bed.
The flowers reflect humanity, the ones with obvious potential are nurtured, and those picked are always the ones with impeccable beauty. Give up on the ones that take a little more time fussing over, and poison what we have evaluated as weeds. Lastly, always introduce some on-the-market, foreign-to-the-body chemicals to recreate the lacking into something better. Practiced by the mother and the gardener, and as also easy to observe in the practice of the psychologist and the doctor. But no matter what circumstances surface in the maintenance of the situation, one is to be concerned over having absolute control of all aspects of the process of evolution.
Well you can pick the flower from the ground and put it in your kitchen, but the flower will never change it's necessities nor its manner, no matter what the environment you decide to place it in. The little boy in the suburbs needs quiet to sleep, and routine kisses with hugs. The little boy in Sierra Leone needs just as much, but he can't sleep or get his kiss until the guns aiming at his father stop.

The femme, well she knows as much as anyone could know that survival is always plausible, whether it be in heavenly homes, or devastated scraps built of tree and stone. You can live without, but one will never entirely give up and submit to adapt, because the living has a pulse harder than the dead, and the living are just so much stronger than that.

Love is better in it's purest form. When the reason it spawns and starts to grow isn't there, and it flourishes without the acknowledgment of consciousness even being aware. Loving freely will save the soul from leaving.
The soul needs something to stay for, and you need something to live at all costs for.
She still is yet to put her finger on the right outlet, whether it be occupational or a humanly figure, but so far she's all good with treating any encounter like it is the answer, and it might be the thing to influence and win. Words will trick the mind to believing there had never been a wait, carving out the inner sinner from the cited saint.
Though religion is beneath her, her conclusions- or maybe these things are possibly false delusions - brought her to have faith that love of whatever & whomever will come, and when it will come, it will come and find her.

Science may be logically correct, and it is widely perceived that a stance of neutral is the political face to make claim for the public to accept. But she's knows investing in wander equals meaning, and in the end that is the creed that will lavish onto the mind the heaviest and the best.
Anything to keep the void filled, and in return keep the void from existing, and keep the void away. So long emptiness; I have but no cares for you, and it so happens I hope you have a terrible and a horrible fucking day. Because I can't have a will against what I give no way.

With so many highs yet to come to me, so I taste their flavor, and so many lows that are yet in store for me to wallow in and me to bear, why turn off the lights when they can be altered to dim, and why throw it all in and sink, if I can swim?

"The nice thing about being a heroin addict is you either have no problems, or just one big one"