Rocket-fueled rapt ambition, fate concedes to my volition. There is nothing I can't take wherever there's a win at stake.
Spin this that way, that to this, it's quite easy to do. Discretion is unneeded where the roadblocks are few.
Could treats so good be bad at all. A hunger oh so strong La Dolce Vita is my call, delicious can't be wrong.
I'll carve a special little niche, safe from the perils of life, where I can make a place for hope. First, I'll need to find a knife.
Where is this fraud called hope? Tell me how would it feel? Why does it evade me? I have no faith it's real.
A door appears as I tremble cold, receding portal of fading light. Frantically clawing to find a hold, but there's nothing left, and nothing right.
To have known love and lost leaves one disconsolate and voided, forever seeking some course of revival. A way to bring it back, to breathe again.
The need to breathe, air, so intrinsic to life. So is love the sole averment of ever having been truly alive.
We cannot know someone from his or her actions and words alone; we need to understand their thinking.
Hoping, dreaming on I stray to her smile, a world away. Love unfulfilled, I rise and a world away, she cries.
Even when dreaming I'm falling so fast, then waking last-second, eyes wide. And feeling, after the terror has passed, a little emptier inside.
The line between need and want, whether fine or wide, can be poorly interpreted depending on the circumstances.
Pursue in lieu of a full mind, mindfulness. Absent this, the value of all, of everything, or nearly so is nearly nothing.
Portentous, uncertain, intoxicating. A leap of faith. It asked me if I wanted it, and of course, I said yes.
Even though it hurts me so, this broken heart is tough. For now, forgive, forget and for us, that is enough.
A fool chooses nothing or all and ends up completely alone. The safe path is a coward's pall, only a weak man could condone
Once an honest and complete self-analysis and understanding of thought is realized, the mind is freed to interpret the world more accurately.
In order to achieve sustained spiritual growth and serenity, you must first accept that it is your thoughts that make you who you are.
I’m grateful for the little things you do for me. Not to show me you love me, rather, because you love me.
I find it all too easy to overlook the good things. I suppose this is common, but I don't wish to be common.
Choosing to do nothing, or even the next best thing, because of apprehension or fear is a coward's failure. A craven dereliction.
Even the happiest fall prey to the plastic, the vacuous virtual. And some little voice keeps whispering to us there’s something wrong here.
Reach down deep and draw a line. Continue thinking, walking tall. The problem's theirs, never mine. The insanity of it all.
Shock no thinking just decide. Rage from nowhere down inside. Sensing ruin, cannot tell, kill the threat or run like hell.
Sun is rising, here comes the day. Mind is clear, thanks to you. All is good in every way, one more time I want to.
I'll carve a special little niche, safe from the perils of life, where I can make a place for hope. First, I need to find a knife.
Weakness is to take a knee, fear I will not succeed. If I can choose destiny and move, then I am freed.
Silver starlight blankets the cool night. Our eyes reflecting something, suspecting, could it be this is love?
Happenchance sparks with no matter who, waiting for love to arrive. To anyone, here I am, longing, as long as I am alive.
A veiled irony, how true inspiration so rarely comes from within. Or if it does, it is so personal, it almost qualifies as selfishness.
I’m grateful for the little things you do for me. Not to show that you love me, rather, because you love me.
