Weary of watching The funeral Clocking The countdown To meltdown With no sign of stopping Just racing Ourselves To extinction Embracing No clear-cut distinction Just surfaces Facing Annihilation At the hands of time Wasting Too late to make progress When profit prevails And the crimes against nature Are tipping the scales
You are a whisper in the chaos A tender, lonesome, dove Always a bit obscure However, full of love You are the seeker of horizons In an endless sky above A survivor of the mayhem When push comes to shove But love shall overcome Of this, I’m certain of
I'm rid of men. I'd rather have paper and pen. I'd rather my feet planted on ground. I don't like my head spinning around.
I'm so glad I've burst this bubble. All it did was cause me trouble. Now my eyes see clear the day. Now I don't get in my way.
I'm so glad to sleep so sound. Not tied/not bound to some romantic notion. Not weeping oceans and drowning on dreams. Serenity instead of screams.
I'm so glad I kicked the habit. All the years I tried to grab it. Clutching and clawing what wasn't mine only to find he wasn't worthy of me. Glad to leave a fading memory.
Margaret's fingers clasped and still white birds upon her window sill silent doves that came to rest sleeping now upon her chest each settled bird that came to land will fly no more from Margaret’s hands
Margaret aged 5 was a child killed in the blitz. I visited her grave when I was 10
warehouse of time never complete never emptied this wave reached me again this drilling pain around the navel i don't recognized anything my nails my cries my falling into despair nevertheless it is my flesh - this warehouse everything comes together fused in the flow of the unknown or unthought known wavelengths chasing each other the revenge of forgetting or the impossibility of space something emanates slips away when there is not enough body of the mind which is always the case cause gods get tired is it the heart that is touched first, I don't know this energy of mystery it creates new figments of twilight new shades of falling if i let it be it tells me this story tear down the invisible sites of hurt for the impossibility of touch of sight of speak the solution is always poetic, take shelter it says inside someone's heart eye inside fluid worlds of wonder
what if the warehouse of time is full of weeping eyes of buried hearts