MAY Blankets Pleasure Me in 30 Unlikely Ways
The angels from the land of the Dutch, to those floating in the oceans of Korea, to those on the beaches of Brazil, to those dodging the city of Barcelona, comprehend me now, if the clock strikes me mad, as sometime you MAY see 30 past the hour, right before the big hand meets the little, no one alive can always be a Jesus Christ, you can’t always be an angel, no matter how beautiful your sensual smile is, and it’s fucking beautiful.
The bad becomes so clear, when everything turns mistaken, but I am just a lost soul dancing on the shores of good intent, I’ll be misunderstood even and everyway the angels glance at it, as I say the right things, wrong so many times, and there is no turning back the clock in real time, it’s just apart of the misunderstand.
Clarifications shouldn’t need to be conceived for reasons of justification, but you don’t realize my misunderstood visions of the MAY blankets that pleasure my heart in 30 unlikely ways, so I try to explain but I don’t know where it goes, except trying to the say the right things, but I don’t know how sometimes, I suppose.
When I move closer and clearer down the bumpy roads of vindication, I seem to only be getting further and further, lost in the fog of clarification, from the angels of misunderstanding, wanting to grab my MAY blankets of pleasure, only to realize faster than the spark of a cigarette, that’s my misunderstanding.
Maybe enlightenment of the truth is like a little boy with hopeful eyes attempting to wake from a daydream of illusion, trying not to be misunderstood is just a product of myself but still perhaps I haven’t attempted hard enough to explain myself, more than just shouts of forgiveness to the angels that grab a hold of my sacred words.
Just wanting to be treated like the norm, but the angels they are the ones that treat me differently, I want to believe, I desire in opposition but it’s all blinded in a fog of misunderstanding. The cold snowy winds blew us into a circle of confusion, turning misunderstanding into a mistaken hurricane of fabricated gusts of isolation and abandonment. I tried but only ended up stumbling on my own words deeper into a chaotic disorder, reaching for your hand but became restless thinking I did the best I could do, wanting to hit rewind only to shut my mouth but that’s only fantasy.
I’m not afraid to say that you seem to be answering questions that I am not asking, and it’s become apparent that my apologetic sorrows sound nothing more than a burnt disc skipping on flawed results that are fighting with emotion towards good intentions. Not a bit of this was a part of the plan, so reach out to my hand, and lets pull one another out of this quicksand, and we don’t need to try and understand…we just need to be.