The upper hand of demand.

By SeraCurr

Sitting, Appling myself in thought, thought about giving…Giving heart, giving my ears and eyes to those not half worthy…Is it my fault? To be at fault? With the truth of his color, I believe days have shortened… Oh how I laugh praise meekly, for all that he has been towards me. I demand nothing but everything, as the smell of her cup that is filled with waking intentions; it gives me motivation to sleep longer. The reasons for the floor being grounded, is lost to me…But with your creations, I accuse. I accuse more than the pain in your lips, I accuse the feeling brought to life by your fingers…DEMAND? Yes… with out doubt, to doubt-to feel unconvinced or uncertain about something, or think that something is unlikely… I doubt not, the feeling of your face. I bid all that is owned by others, and hide my winning under your bed, and ask politely for you to hold my mind in you left pocket. The right holds your pocket parachute, considering your always falling, for me; I do not care to wish, unless it’s upon your star…Multiplying in French is common for my relations, so catch up to me, and demand my hand, if late, my feet are always inviting…

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The upper hand of demand.

Created: Jul 04, 2010

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