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| out from underneath,
the demons come.
is there truth,
within fragile human life?
good question.
maybe i'll never find it. | | |
| as far as the spirits fly from here, the ocean cries deep blue tears.
mother, mother, it screams, what is happening to me?
mother never answers, alone and silent, she dies.
and the ocean, dangerous and full of losing life, the ocean cries. | | |
| we sing with more passion the world has ever seen.
we close our eyes and pray to our unending artistry.
we strive for nothing, we threive only with the love we offer each other.
we live on dollar menus, cheap booze, cigarettes and lost innocence.
and as we speak, in bad rhymes and broken rhythms, everyone stops to listen.
our stories, our lives, are written within our flowing melodies.
are you listening?
if you hear me, i know you can try.
we paint firtied canvases, in the back of dark-lit cafes, the constant chatter surrounding.
life will contine on, no matter how loud we scream, no matter how hard we cry.
but we sing, yes, we sing with more passion, the world will ever see. | | |
| imagine.
invisible reality.
a lake and the sun, shimmering upon it.
what are we here for, but to realize that we have no proving purpose, but to live?
and live we shall, among the careless wreckage.
we have bestowed this upon ourselves.
we emit ourselves to our deceptions, without implication of perfection.
all hope, is it lost?
damage done by devilish deeds, shall never be forgiven.
shall never be rebuilt.
there is not a thing, no nothing can be done.
| | |
| my fingers are bleeding.
and my eyes are falling with tears.
it's over. over. over.
finally. it's over.
but it never ends.
i'll say it a million times. because it's true.
and because i'll never stop bleeding my fingers.
it's a nervous habit you know, this constant pain, this dull roar on the tips.
this mess i make, i'll never clean.
this heart i break, will never mend.
for it is my own i break, over and over again.
and until the shards cease their piercing into me,
i'll never heal.
there are so many things i'd like to say.
but i've hardly the words, nor the voice, to say them.
there are so many words, i'd like to write and read, and communicate.
but what means do i have, but these bloodied fingers?
from blathering tonight:
yourself
feel yourself, from here to there.
move yourself back from there to here.
have you gone anywhere?
try this: remove yourself completely.
does the world still turn?
do people still life their meaningless lives?
well then. you've made yourself useless.
i hope you and yours are well.
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