If a picture is worth a million words then what use are our ears? Please don’t make me fall back asleep. The rain falls like regret from a vein and the world is surrounded by crimson. I see pale blue turn blank as the pages catch fire and turn to ash swept up by a cruel wind. I just can’t go back to sleep. Please don’t make me go back to sleep.
Monthly Archives: July 2014
Dancing through the rains of forgotten lands and open memories, I find myself so close to home and yet still so very far away. I’m soaked to the bone and the shivers in my body just will not obey my thoughts and cease their violent attack. The smile on my face is real for the first time in months. It’s as if I have fallen into a little moment of importance and loving acceptance, a sanctuary from the storm raging its way through my cloudy mind.
There’s a star shining brightly on the eastern horizon and thoughts of prophecy are never far behind. Wise men always ponder the unimaginable and question the answers handed out like pennies on the dollar. The day belongs to those that persevere in the face of maddening insanity and oceans of bipolar salt water. The dreams of the future are written in color and love knows no lies here. Deceit is the murderer of love and bitter black hearts hold the truth written plainly upon their sleeves for the perceptive to clearly read. Justification and appeasement turn the child into a bitter bleeding creature of comfortable sin just as the adversary knew it would. So read the writings of the world and drown in your silly insecure delusions of grandeur. The truth has been written and notarized by the creator of the tree that made the paper and the blood that made the ink.
You’ve been sold a lie at wholesale prices. The dream was a fact that holds truth of more than man’s imagination is capable. The lack of obscurity is refreshing and is simply priceless. The money changers continue their business in the temple and the leper is still shunned. A broken machine that saddens the soul and leaves the flesh bitter and cold. It seems the train has left the station and the broken and weary have been left behind. There’s a star just over the eastern horizon. It promises hope. It promises love. It promises a reckoning.
Death dangles on a thread, like venom on a web, just inches above his head. He tries to forget about the time that’s fled, or how much it was that he seemed to have bled, or the twisted words that she had said. Lying broken and pained alone in his bed, the mouth of faith has gone too long unfed, and as his world fades to black all he can see is red. All of this simply because death dangles on a thread, just inches above his overcrowded head, and he seems to have at last run out of skin to shed.
Drums set the destructive rhythm that pulls you along for the ride of a lifetime. It’s like seeing clearly for the first time. Colors pop and pull you into a collision course with destiny. The moon in the open night sky doesn’t seem to be that far away anymore, seeming to be a mere skip away. The warmth burns with the same intensity as the molten center of the planet. The planet that exists just so this moment can happen.
It’s told in the worn hands of the diligent gardener and in the wide smiling eyes of a child. It’s a feeling of passing bliss mixed with the long forgotten scent of a most sublime memory. Reaching through all the years and the walls built of broken bricks and scattered ashes. It envelopes the mind and eternity suddenly seems a simple and easily grasped idea.
It’s as real and tangible as the air you breathe to keep dreaming. The sun is merely a reflection of the souls of those who clutch it. It’s a simple idea of miraculous complications tied up and drenched in smiles and closed lips. Secret dreams left to wander always seem to fall on shoulders already weighted by unassuming guilt and egotistical pride.
The broken world was then forgotten and left to burn for its crimes. The flesh crashed against the shore with the evening tide and the soul flew far away. The hope was held open and continued to flow long after the dust had seemed to settle. Something left astray along the way haunted the empty towns and broken down buildings left there to rot. It’s a soft spoken myth whispered only in those areas surrounded by love and a calm understanding. It’s the moon. It’s the very planet that sustains us. The planet that exists just so this moment can happen.
Pulled through the center at breakneck speed and flushed out the other side with the rest of the refuse. It’s a simple understanding and a misrepresentation of an understatement set aflame under an orange moon. It glowers and growls, howling into the winter winds, holding off the frostbite for just one more second of precious life. Indicated and infiltrated of it’s nature the surrounding air is twisted and wary. An expression based upon the cold checker pattern that exists to perpetuate your wicked little game. Witness the removed pawn that left the board, the very second he realized the Kings Queen, was nothing more than another little whore.
Straight jacket the goddamn mime for I’m sick of hearing his voice and quite frankly could do with some silence. It’s like the sick voice that loves the lust until it has you by the heart and on your knees. The madness becomes thick and combustible and soon the explosion is destined to occur. It’s like a sore on the roof of his mouth that would probably heal if only he could quit tonguing it. Vicious little bites of heated embrace set to grasp wrists like chains of slavery. Gratitude given over simplistic and physical gratification smoked thin and gone without a trace. Beneath the sweaty embrace of a thousand lovers, maybe there you’ll find yourself. Maybe there you’ll save yourself.
Making a statement is hard, especially when your insides are oozing insecurity. I’ve got access to so many beautiful words, yet I struggle constantly with my twisted little tongue. You made me feel like I was the most important person breathing. Then you took my air and made me feel worthless. Fucking closure. Spare me. There is no escaping the pain. It escalates daily with only the grave as a promise that it will end. Not that it matters. After all it was so easy to forget about me. Its always been so fucking easy for you.
A day held in remembrance of freedom and liberty. Funny, all it makes me remember is fucking death.