feeble-hold

Increased in every perspective mellow drama with an intoxicated twist Of all emotion being dulled in a background light of a developing picture blurring its edges because slow penetrating exposure never whole, not like this your limbs sow me to the ground. Holding me back in the perfected the moment

To my dearest reaper We met somewhere in between conscious and indulgence of the squeezed roots On the lines of your paralytic fantasies I stood A glimmer of hope from your side of the bar With my vision blurred and feet unfocused It was time to harvest Slow, always keep it slow To jump on your pray is distasteful Practice makes perfect A natural walk Hair slightly to the side, eyes wide, focused without an obvious pin point Aware I was plucked from the abundance of that shallow room A face amongst the crowd infested with delusion Scooped up in the hands of those who seek advantage Played easily like a royal flush Why avoid