The witching hour has spelled my mind.
Dollar signs revolve in my field of vision.
Love, what-if I've become so detached that its unrecognizable.
The tide comes in and washes back out.
This machine has malfunctioned.
Call me a cynic, but my feet are firm to this place.
Getting swept up would take gale-force winds.
"Love, is dedicating yourself to someone. A free-fall."
The result sits here striking keys at ungodly hours in the am.
So after the impact, logically, we concur that flight isn't possible.
Jaded? Maybe.
maybe I just don't feel anymore.
at all.
I've made love my scarlet letter, taboo.
Perhaps its just too far gone.
Maybe I'm just too numb.