across the mountains and high seas
i want to travel as far as the moon can see
and still a little more to numb my thirst
as far above the sun as below the dusk

until the night howls and winter combusts
all around the spring singing of hurt
until the autumn grows loud enough to rust
until the day burns and stars submerge

wandering down the ways uphill a bliss
where mermaids drown and the gods sit
somewhere far where the flowers hiss
and all the pieces are where they fit

there where the clowns cry and live
from nowhere to across all the towns

carrying not an ounce of pain or a crown
in temples of Angkor with nothing to give

at the end of a rainbow and rain profound
the hollow windows and barren grounds
from rotten whispers and forgotten blitz
where demons prowl and angels ****

very depth of hell and under the ground
i'll travel as deep as a melancholic sound
under my skin crawling all the way down
the thunder and my sins all in a 'round

where the lights are dim and bound
with my plastic grin and elastic faith

down the road where none can be found
i'll wait there and sin with all my hate

so come for me before i go to waste
so come for me before it gets too late

so come for me before i close the gates
so come for me and come with a blade

so come for me before i fade,
so come for me before i name my price
so come for me before i wake,
so come for me before i take my life.

get me a plastic girl,
and i'll sing to her my plastic words
i'll giver her the plastic world

and we'll live in a plastic house
with a plastic cat and a plastic mouse
a plastic heart for a plastic mouth

plastic inside, and plastic out
an elastic skin for a fancy crowd

a plastic window and a plastic couch
where i'll sit alone with my plastic doubts

watching the plastic rain cold and loud
drinking away the plastic south

filling myself with that plastic asteroid
i hear a plastic voice and black plastic joy

i have a plastic sorrow and my plastic toys
there's no tomorrow just this plastic void

can you see the smile and my plastic poise
painted classic pink on my plastic floyd

plastic me in this plastic noise,
a plastic droid.

©writeweird

my sins poured in a can
steel sides don't let me break free
and there i hide with my plastic smile
by myself for them all to see

and i have this rubber mask
that goes well with my pain

i know i was never meant to last
with all this poison in my veins

but if i could be free
would i be me ?

and words are 'round
asking me what's around
what's that sound,
what can be worse than this ?

and words i found
they're all buried in the ground
what's the count,
what can hurt more than this ?


for i've kept a few names in my basket
i've ran the miles and now i'm past it
holding on but i know i wouldn't last this

for it shows when i smile all plastic
my skin isn't bullet proof but it's elastic
so bury my soul and burn the casket


and melt away all the plastic,
melt away the plastic

what can be worse than bliss ?

old summer days,
forgotten whispers crumble
mummbled the whisperer
carrying the begotten ways

marrying the sunshine
birthing the whistles and grey
a sinister mind occupied
riled by the golden rays

sat by the meadow's brook
pouring cigarette's in ashtray
petrified of the ways earth is shook
from seven sea's far away

as the dead men watch in horror,
the living, and the words they say
down the shore where they found a book
passed down from hands gone astray

down the shore where they found a corpse
too lost to see, for free to he who pays
drown the soul and bury the tree
or the river shall find way to the men of clay

so pour the sky some *** and see
a drunk asteroid void of any hissing parts
on its way to kiss the grinning sun
to death and until life does them apart

maybe this world inside my head
won't be just another tale if i take a pill
sing to me and don't make haste
else the wasted would fill the ill

sing to me and don't you wake
the poison in my veins harms and ****
bring to me your morning grace
the demon inside my brain has no will

i'm so ***** since i ate the thrill
filled the whisperer and now it's a song
on the television a summer plays
in a loop of silver they don't belong

outside the winter claws against a home
breaking free of the last whisper
frozen in ashes written on the stones
regretting the moment he kissed her

for the summer to spend
and mend into colours those don't fit
weaving a piece of a puzzle to sit
and mourn the ways to miss her more

breaking thunder for the pieces of me
this place where kid eats kid,
the science doesn't cut like a blade anymore.


©writeweird

bursting through his skin, the insects crawling on the inside found their way to every corner of his soul, and he stood there wrapped in agony of a thousand burning suns, and the moon was ever present as it has ever been.

the battle was lost ages ago but only now the seeds were sprouting from the ends of a forgotten symphony, played by the devil, and groomed by the ills of a broken man.

the light of a thousand burning stars couldn't save him from this darkness, casted by the absence of one mere lonely ball of fire, barely big enough to leave behind a legacy that would survive the approaching end everything there ever was has to bear, and live with.

and in that moment of utter despair and pain, a song was sung, from across the different lands and seven seas, as far as anybody has ever gone, whispered out to the cold by the whisperer, seeking a final good-bye, one last of times, and as many heart beats.

the sound never dies, the swollen winds can find their ways to any who dares to listen, to breathe it in, and swallow it down.

as it did that one night before the spring, at that lonely hour, for the man in the dirt, fighting his brain from exploding.

as he lay there in trance, his face stuck to his knees and arms wrapped in a cloak, to keep the demons away and insects from taking the last of what remains, mumbling to himself broken words left clinging in the deepest corners of his diseased conscience.

at the very end, there's only light, for darkness will lose any meaning, any sight without a spectator, it would cease to exist.

and maybe that was the reason, or maybe it didn't have one, just like a million little tales flowing in every direction, on this excluded part of the universe, in depths of blinding darkness, barely visible to the naked eye.

but whatever it took, the magnificent sun rose as it has done, faithfully, for as long as anything can remember, to feed the tiny little speck of nothing, one more day in the awakening.

the spring had come, and the man was free,
and all that is left was stardust.

wake, i'm waiting in my sleep
hate me if you have to,

here have two,
take this and blind me,
and tell me so-

do you still love me ?
love me in everyway i need you to
i need you to fill me,

blue and through, me and you
confused by the passing afterthought

i'm going back and forth
glancing at the hands of the clock
why don't you fall into my arms
and make the tick tock go away

we can sit and talk
about life and so much more
all you have to do is be here

and all you have to do
is hear me sing your name

so come before i wake
and the poison leaves my veins

run to me before the sun
swallows my hate for you

and these hollow words
paint us into a new story

that a billion years from now
won't even matter

the forever we promised
broken into pieces
that no one will ever gather

what does it take
for the dreams to be strung together ?
such that they never break
no matter how many times we do


and such is the weather
the sky grey and the winds with blues
how much of mind does one need
to feel better ?

when it's never going to be your day ?


for the heart's been broken
since the day we said our good-byes

and we're all just drops in an ocean
watching the land drift away beneath
our feet,

away from our eyes-
and all the hunger we seek,

so just a moment more
i need to find you in my head

just a moment more
and then we'll all be dead

and i can go back to sleep

©writeweird

little people
small people
people full of scars

riddle me people
why the feeble mind ?

why bother time
with your reaper's heart ?

cry with me,
when I read you your tar,

filthy hands, guilty stars
many men, any man-
but yet i see no flowers

nobody's awake at this hour

and i've slowly spent all my
will to live,
i repent the kind man who
sought this thrill to give,

frozen smile, stuck by the clock;
locked in place and stiff,
opened files, an omen dies,
and he spoke with a slight lisp

munching on something
light and crisp,
searching for nothing,
nothing's as vile and sick;

reaching for that one thing-
that gun thing, them rocks and sticks,

how about that sun thing ?
what would a son think,
when he's burdened by the mist,
pretending to be human enough
to pretend that he's amiss,

amidst the chaos and the risks,
forgotten names and letters,
from faces that he don't miss-

and they think it gets better
the more you drink and fish,
so ink yourself a moon, and
buy yourself a letter-
so, you can sin, sing and wish

for some time alone.