| Made of GlassA tower with a hundred floors
where it can't stand to be
but believe there won't be
much left for the world to see
when i'm done with the waves
i create when hiding you
in the sea, not to worry
they'll blend nicely what's
to worry not to see with the
eyes to vie to cry to circumdesign
where through the mind to villify
my only lie and that is I don't care,
but never to dwell, never to tell
how could she of so many hide
the words written in between
the passionate disposition
nowhere to be listening
I know from your dispassion
what lie ahead, I fear not
what it demands only the power
I give you. The problem with
our parallel lines is that they
intersect so often. that is all
I have to say about that. 7-31 |
| |
| free association with my eyes closedwasting world in a wave of indispersable time.i could care less if you're ever fixed
why these jump around, i can't be sure, but where relity meets
it's too much to think that things ever end up like they should, but the pills keep telling me to do things that i hate
too many, too many words.
i'm chasingf you through this portal. blindly asking you thesee questions for fear.
it's on the wrong side of the spectrum. would he be better off without exposition.
invisible words typed in a phase i'm unfamilaiar with.
why can't you just dissappear like you've pretended to
i have to close my eyes while i write this letter.
just so i'm sure it's real. let's scroll back down to the bottom of this
let's imagine once in a world where you cared and before i died, that the patience of mine could last longer than the screams of fake passion and practiced emotion could transcend the weary qualms of the limitations of freeddom
By definition, it doesn't exist. utopic no place entitles this world a doomed fate and condemned to the root.
damned from it's inception, but so the good may thrive. borne of the excrement of their ancestors is the new beast of morality, mortality, distant.
i've forgotten my metre and the lines don't break
i know i'm done, when i no longer care.
my hands be washed of my mistakes and no one remember
the house i burned was to the destruction
a word i can't spell
who forgets. who recalls.
by all accounts i've gone and done it again, but none can say
it's illegible and with the exes i sign, the thief begins
who can resist the mirror, who can hold back from the dirty bag, i've died, we just haven't realized it yet. why doesn't the movie end until the final punch line?
it just wouldn't seem finished
i open my eyes to realize that this has made me smile in my worst and darkest fear. All of everything is a game and winning doesn't matter.
|
| |
| diddle diddle doh
diddle diddle played the fiddle and hit the wrong note
diddle diddle dee
diddle diddle shot the breeze with a silver bullet iced tea
diddle diddle da
diddle diddle don't watch his mouth, he'll always end up on top
diddle diddle didn't realize that he'd be doing all the work in the relationship because it turns out that the girl of his dreams was a high maintenance biatch with no self-respect just a huge amount of pretend superiority when he was around because he was just a stupid tool with low self-esteem and a large temperement for doing tedious tasks of no consequence except to his new mistress |
| |
| what if i'm afraid
and no one knows
what if i cry
behind the shadows
would they lie
if they really knew
would they sigh
because i knew what if the world is a lie and i'm important
maybe it's because i can't die, until the right moment
who cares what i write, abstract can't be measured
if it's not real and no one's right, would that make it lesser the sands of the sea shift, all the time
the wind blows, before the strike
the earth seethes, at just nine
what would sink, in an ocean of grime
who cares if i write poorly
no one cares if i try hard
no one misses what could have been what's the point.
emotion is pointless.
why am i writing?
this is..
|
| |
