I hear the tick tick tick...
and I feel the tock tock tock,
coursing through my veins
while the hours are becoming decades,
decades becoming centuries...

We are fed through lapse of time by figurines dangling on the wall.
Ticking and clicking.
A beat.
An ever incessant beat that our ever stumbling feet never seem to balance with.
We are always a second ahead, or seemingly so,
a second behind;
grasping and searching,
desperate to find,
an answer in how we capture the seconds creeping so casually between our fingers.

In that struggle with the tick,
and with our folly of the tock,
we stare in anguish at the clock,
missing moments that matter the most.


All the time we throw aside...

The devil works at Norman Rockwell and he wrote the blueprints to suburban paradise.


The angels by his side fill our homes with the same designs and their fingers stretch into rocking chairs,
draining our lifeforce.
I can smell the sulfur on him when invited so graciously into your home.
God ******.
He didn't even need to ask to be let in.

I am screaming silently into a wall while they are draining their glasses,
laughing at jokes told a thousand times before.

The comedy of man.
The tragedy of man.
Aren't they the same thing?

The cheers at clones in suits preaching promised lands
turn to static and I am sick of trying to block the noise.

"If you dance with the devil, the devil won't change, the devil changes you."

...but perhaps I can learn a few moves from and wait for his feet to stumble...

I am a a toy in your hands.
A novelty to dance and sing.
The fool on stage to quote a line or two and smile away at you.
But the curtain draws and the toy grows old.
I walk the empty stage and the audience has left, leaving silence, the loudest of sounds.
When the costume is off and the truth of me is shown. I hang my head in shame and long to vanish into nowhere.
Perhaps it is just a paranoia but it leaks into my core and I don't know where to hide when I cannot hide from myself.
Perhaps I fear the toy will one day lose its shine and become another dusty figurine hanging on the wall with the rest of those who live in grey.
I hope not.

My soul was crudely etched into a wall by unseen figures casually strolling through the universe on late night musings.
They forgot to add an element though, and so I have been searching east and west for whatever they might have missed.
They filled my lungs with self doubt and electric pulses of insecurity.
I have been trying to model a caricature of what they think I shouldn't be,
a lonely dust gathered blueprint of the actual me.
They filled my veins with flame and gave me causes without a name,
but I guess I don't mind.

All I know, all I dream...
is that my blood is made of chaotic words trying to make sense in the darkness.

And I want to show the world my open wounds.

Why the winds of change surround, that in that split pivotal moment, I succumb to my only weakness; the hell in your eyes.
A hell I found swimming there like fire shimmering against the void seemed to be a candle leading me through places never I have found myself before; a new pathway dimly lit in the darkness.

Let me prove I'm alive.
Hear my voice and gather your mind. I'll sing like a sparrow anyway. Illuminating smile through the daylight into the depths of the jade night sky, can you tell that I'm alive?
My candle flame may be faint, with sharp winds.
Huddle the light left, to regain your effervescence once more.
For me.
That light calling against the shadows like winged musical notes dancing through luminescent fog slowly brightens an otherwise crestfallen and ill favored forest;
a pathway leading towards something better than where we may have previously been.
A reverse entropy catching the darkness and casting it where our skin may be rid of it.

I call out a name and an echo murmers back my longing.

Still straining with such force. An implicating smirk.
Ain't that funny...
I know what you're thinking. I can hear through the whispers your spewing.
When you're gone, I'm afraid someone will take my place.
But I won't stop breathing,
and as far as you know, I'm still dreaming.
These dark trees are trembling and every leaf swaying through the lifeless glances you break. Take my hand, walk with me. Let me reminisce these memories of us.
Though memories fade like photographs motionless in the light,
a spectral imprint is left behind like the lips of a ghost visiting in the night.
The mark you leave is a map in my dreams that leads me to treasures that can barely seem
a treasure at all in its mysterious madness because I fight for happiness in the blissful sadness.
A sadness I breathe in the vanishing of you.
Of me or for me, cause it's not like it seems.
A facade so well disguised.
You'd think the life would fall from her captivating eyes. A humble remark, I've pondered a few. But this lashing of thoughts is tattered and sorted. I feel as if I'm falling through the cracks of this foundation. if we crumble, tell me please that you'll feel better.
Those intertwined fingertips are slipping through the gaps.
Though if your sadness tears you up. I'll stand by, listening.
Because your silence is as deafening to me as the heart strings being torn from its base. Thumping in and out time with this meaningless state. And if I ramble in this space. Remind me the reasons. Don't leave me stranded in this range.

*To abandon you would be to abandon myself, alone and forgotten on the side of the road while cars fly like stars past the loneliest bars where I sit drinking whiskey to drown thoughts of you.
A bittersweet truth that none can avoid,
who float through the hallways like phantoms in empty homes...
is that no matter if you touch my skin and kiss my lips,
alone shall I forever be
past a wall you can't breach with a legion of screams.

Your god is forged from wolves,  
dressed as men, with hungry eyes.
The day I watched them feast is when I turned my back on
god.

When a voice whispered in the emptiness, "Let there be light.",
an echo murmured back,
"Let there be darkness."
Eyes wide shut can't tell the difference.

I spray ashes from my lungs
left by cities which you've burned;
refuse your pious nature
and praise you never earned.

Somewhere deep in hiding,
the light will wait in patience,
while you drown the world in darkness
with the evil you created.