Saturday, January 15, 2011
no we're not. I'm fucking tired of trying to patch up all
I'm fucking sick of living in this oppression.
where everyday all we do is to pretend that we're all okay.
that' we're a normal happy family just like everyone else.
all the while, while we're falling apart inside.
someone break me out of here.
out of this place.
i've lost my words, the fluid beauty i've worked so long to amass,
that would slide off my tongue, a comforting lullaby
of imagination.
all i'm left with is the crude language of
us. naked. and ugly.
stifling, our will to live.
numbed, high on laughing gas
and stark reality.
blunted, by ourselves.
we could have shone,
and lit up the night sky
we could have been.
the razor's been kept,
we've taken our meds,
and now it's time to say good bye.
farewell my friends,
though it's not yet the end,
we're off to bed
tonight.
dactylic meter. dactylic feet.
we're off like a beached whale,
drowned at sea.
limitless, our ability.
we just lost the lock to the
door of our key
yesterdays and yesteryears.
yesternights, today.
the sun smoldered away.
we tore our ligaments, bones and skin
so maybe the pain would heal
the bruises that were here to stay.
the invisible scars of twilight.
fading away by the sunrise
prose, jumbled.
jangling, discordant.
exuberant.
victory was never ours.
never to be.
we fell through the safety net
and disappeared into the
dens of mice and motorcycles
matchsticks and mayhem
rainbows, and optical illusions
empty images we tried to believe.
like the empty lies and the empty tales
you told me. trust.
trust.
trustme.
your hot breath, on mine.
16% life. 4% death.
78% jaded.
starbursts and moonshine
and the barbies we wrapped up in twine.
delusion favours the deluded
just as insanity favours the blind
stepped across the forbidden line
the deed is hard, but the deed is harder.
done.