"The Manic Girl Is Ranting - Part Six"

So unmotivated as a flood giving up in the fight,
cleaning up the soil that we swore we'd clean up ourselves.
Feel my fingetips and see the paperthin skin,
against the current of red string just let me slip away.
Shattered pieces like the wet paper you left in the rain,
a puzzle left in hiding at the back of the closet in the corner.
Double sticks made of iron and doubt want you to come in,
away from the affection fading off of perfection.
Think I might have inhaled you through the lungs of black,
you're running right through my arms I try to cut you out.
Summer far off in a far away place with flames of copper,
hard to say how I feel for you it's been too long tripping.
Rain comes pouring down without a sound from eyes that cry too long,
but words can't weep like piano keys and violin strings.
Until it all falls down like a tower of cards with broken hearts,
can't sleep without the thought of you being so damned sick.
Take this all away as burning pages in a diary,
reach for the girl and hold her close because she won't be silver forever.
Let's get some wine and drink to our misery tomorrow never comes,
fight the break of dawn with swords of desire and ease.
It ain't easy to stop you from crying I wish it wasn't so,
in the morning you'll wake up alone because I'll be gone by then.
Just want you to be free clip the strings off your wings,
thought I lost you somewhere but you never were really there.
So long ago I don't remember a when but that's when they say I died,
a broken heart disease with a funeral of wounded law.
Such a pretty face and I couldn't help but wonder,
why you hang around this place see something beautiful.
It's funny I feel just like someone else but I haven't changed,
though I know I ain't the same water I was before.
Let's drive this down the middle and yell we're dead,
they won't follow us and I can be sure of that.
I've been mistaken in the tides though the pleasure is mine,
imperfections are collected in your hands of waiting.
You need to stop pretending to not have scars and stinging wounds,
bending until you break but never hitting the ground.
Searching for the brush to hide in away from them,
creature in mourning and progress seems so far away.

Just keep moving,
maybe it'll be all right,
one day.

Wouldn't that be something?