[L]et [O]ut [V]ines [E]ntangling.

I wonder, is this it? Are the depths of my soul truly calling out or am I far more shallow than I percieve? Are your words more truthful than my mentality? Is ignorance bliss? Does ignorance even play a part of this? Was my past experience not tough enough to use as a guideline? Is this how it feels? Is this how it feels for me to willingly embrace your faults and love them all the same? Is this how it feels to have an ochestraic type of confidence harmonize with my every word as I speak it from the entirety of my heart? Is this how it feels to be emotional with every fiber of my being? Is this what they try so hard to explain but can never quite right? Is this what we long to feel by the end of our breath called life? Am I feeling it? Is this me realizing that you wear your canyoning sides beautifully? Is this me saying that what you put into me is a nearly unrivaled warmth? Is this a reminder that everything will be fine? Is this selflessness?

Please.
Please believe me.

Sad Happy.

So...
Come.
Come sit with me, my fickle friend.
Upholding this promise unto the end.
Words, words, words... you know what they do.
Hollow me out as my insides go blue.
No new skin breathes as this scab lives,
and a scar will take as the vessel gives.
Leeching from veins that are tied to the heart.
You are the bullseye and my desire a dart.

Chances slim,

situation dire.

The silence will sit,

with twin iris on fire.

Bruising black,

beaten not broken.

Just take my hand,

hearing words unspoken.

Rubbing raw my own wounds,

I ask you to not wear them.

But will shed tears upon yours,

as if salt will repair them.

I may be slipping, or I may have lost.

But I would save your skin at any cost.

What do you pray when every heartfelt sentiment you scream in your head goes unacted upon? I don't blame You, I am in love with You, and I know how real Your prescence and Your grace is, but why is it that the words I find myself repeating so often and with such a welling in my eyes fall from my lips, shattering as they hit the ground? No worries, You hear them. Do You? Do You hear my silent facade? The answer must sit on the horizon. It must sit, suspended upon the nature of the wind, carried freely away from my hands moments before I can wrap around it. I will not be decieved. I will not be provoked. I will not play the blaming game. In due time I suppose, an element not worth fighting. Hush the storm, bring the cloud from her mind and the rain from her home. For in spite of her will, she is not ill. She is shining. Wake her in the dead of night and remind her that she is beautiful. Under the skin lies a story that deserves a happy ending, so may this be the climax - the true turning point. Shed brilliance, for I haven't the light to see the road ahead. But just enough to see her. And there's bright enough.