Letting the soft wave over take his body And the intoxication mist his mind he took up his pen and forget by remembering
"""Crimson and viridian
She was beautiful, she was perfect, and she was mine
She was always there…
Much like I never was
She needed some one who could be
Some one like him
I needed her
She only wanted me
Didn't care
I guess she wanted the bad boy
I guess that's what I am
She needed the good boy
Isn't that how it always is
Good girls flirt with the bad boy
But bring home the good one
I'm no good
My perfect angel
Mine now his
Lost and gone
His his his
No longer mine
Crimson and viridian """
And then he was finish as fast as it had begun. By this time he was gone, lost in a world of white rabbits and magic trees, Feelings of emotions and memories of his Eden. He debated picking up the phone; he was just how she hated him. Stoned. Depressed. Brooding. Angst filled. There was no hope for him, none, in her mind.
Isn't that his tale? No hope. Yes that was he. He hates him self in this state, hates what he has become, or more so who he has become. The rebel. The loser. The drug addict.
Past the point of thinking coherent thoughts lied back and just enjoyed time, after all isn't that what drugs are for?
e-t