charles-hamiltonWhisper

American
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HopelessnessHopelessness is the worst feeling of all / Hope must be the very scaffolding upon which we build ourselves / Because the moment hope dissipates the moment it begins to wear and give way
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EmptinessOh I pray for change for something new in my life / But when it comes its not as I imagined, I'll curse and curse the skies / I beg for forgiveness with the taste of whisky still on my Tongue
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One Can Only AssumeI heard the door open then close but never open again / and one can only assume one can only assume you're not coming back / I saw your eyes close but never open again and one can only assume one can only assume
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We are but toysLet's rewind / Time slips through my fingers / In due time
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TiredI stare into the abyss of a cracked mirror / Into the gateway to my soul / I find only ashes
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AmenOh I pray for change for something new in my life / But when it comes its not as I imagined, I'll curse and curse the skies / I beg for forgiveness with the taste of whisky still on my Tongue
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The Road AheadIf I stay here any longer I will surely suffocate / We've been drowning for so long now / Yet the road ahead is so uncertain
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Late Rambleswas i ever there were you ever here / or was it but a dream conjured by empty fear / secrets bleed through the walls
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EmptyThis is the broken face of an undying push for perfection / While painting my masterpiece I edited it to death / The canvas has weakened with too many strokes of the brush
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WritingThe truth has its way of oozing through the cracks in the coffins we attempt to bury it in. The word secret loses all integrity by second grade, followed by words like “best friends” and soon after the facade of “love” is assassinated by hook ups, break ups, and every type of fuck up there is. Jack scribbled the words in his little black book, but he never really believed a word. Did he really say those things to everyone, did he really commit every unspeakable crime he etched into the flesh of the notebook? Something in his soul screamed no, yet the glass shards in his hand, the blood stains on some of the writings told a different story. How long can pretending to not be something last before you are consumed by that which you attempt to stave off.
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