I live a private life.
Everything I say is a private thing.

The more you know about me,
The more you don't want to know about me,
The more you don't know about me,
The more you want to know about me,

You almost know me and that is a scary thing.
Most people don't read far.
Most people won't pick me up again.

Most people think is,
Weird mystery, weird music, weird everything.

Place me on your fancy bookshelf.

Those loverlike they ran away.
Such is a foul play of fondness.
Such is a psychological rebellious.
Such is a complicatarded relationshit.

You make me breathe too hard
You make me stop breathing

You make me breathe too deep
You make me love to hate
You make me cry and hurt too deep
You make me fall deep
You make me anticipate on ground zero

You make me sick
You make me work for love
You make me tired

You make me hate to love

They found a quaint vacation spot.
They felt so much like something but of only a microscopic vision; through their idealist imagination it was so much of a grandeur encounter.

Feel too much but your presence still disappear. Troubled naked eyes; stop acting so curious. Stop being mysterious. The bloodshed love, your psychological fears. A close heuristic encounter.

Those loverlike they ran away.

My highest ambition, hopefully my forever joy.
In my goal and sweat, my proudest.
I choose to point it back to you.

I am feeling movement as you rise
and I sink in the ocean depth.

Stroke
By
Stroke

I will swim

Love is hard to imagine
Love is the hardest to keep
Love is the hardest to give
Love is simple
Love is deep
Love is everything I wish I could do
Love is real

think of me whatever
say of me whatever
because I am whatever