Scottish-Love

I thought about you today. I thought about the day we almost met. The look I almost saw in your eye, as you caught mine. I thought about the smile you almost gave me. The sun that would have been dazzling us both. I thought about the way you almost played the piano for me on the sweet summer evening in July. At that silly pub we almost went to for our first date. I thought about the way I almost kissed you that night, while we nervously tried to look anywhere but at each other on your steps. I was almost so scared I had messed it all up that I almost never called you back. I thought about the way we used to almost laugh together. About

Interspersion amongst my thoughts of emotional contexts seems like something inescapable. A drama that intercedes with daily life, uncompromising and free. Illicit and humane, a contradictory reminiscence at the tail end of the story that every day seems to write of it's own accord. Disappointing revelations with no workarounds, like a stone-impressed paragraph that only time and hardship can take away.  

I sweat context, wondering some nights what holds true in the sunset of imaginations my head conjures. Late on a sunday night, I wonder what I'm waiting for. Thinking of somewhere around 32 memories, hopeful faces in inquiry of my emotions. The recent arms of the world, wrapped around me in a haze of newly pictured nights; freshly developed in a red room of experiences. Moving pitches of music move me, fraternizing with my library of possibilities. Life splits into a sound-wave, harmonies that pull me under a sea of lightly floating lyrical compositions. I think back to when I had the energy to move while surrounded by walls of fl

The subtle draw of fingers across a piano, no context drawn. Something taking over your life; your passions. Find yourself in it. Draw yourself in it. Over and over, until image fits a perfection that your imagination can only try to perceive. We correct and correct, subtle flecks and subtleties that we can only hope some over-thought computer can correct. Loyalties falter, and we hope to find some self gratification in them. Let your self falter in these moments, float, draw out on the beat. Into a silence, that comes voices slow and broken, speaking words of poetry. Your fingers falter, drawing the cigarette to the mouth so tha

Decisions move the mechanics of the world around me, clashing and driving into one another like pieces of shrapnel from a destruction derby showpiece. Clockwork gears make up the people who idle in the space between me and the rest of the horizon, dramatizations of emotion and frustrations. Plastic dead-sighted eyes shine with the glare from the garish sun, cover-art for an 8-fold mental fence that traps you in it's seclusion. Eclectic thoughts bring stars and moons into the twilight, shading the world in hues of nostalgic blue. Hubris and hatred are laid to rest, while silver glow pillars raise love from the ground.

A spectroscopic blue surrounds my psyche, fragmented in gears and clockwork pieces of expression that glow. Plates of sliding personality move across my surface, shifting thoughts gone and replaced like old parts in a cognitive machine. The waters flow like rivulets of memory tied together and laid carefully in strokes, a raw creation molded together from re-interpretation. Earth frames me, like a picturebox mold, sliding easily through the still-life representations of my movements. The moon and sky above mesh together, dropping to embrace the sea, creating a whirlpool of stars who have held together in small islands of diamond lum