I seized a colorful pigeon on my palm
And I started to engrave the story of our love in its feathers
It flew away to orate our love
And in the night I met him in my dream
He was dead, and said “This is how the society deals with love

I watched you go
I watched you go
I watched you go
I watched you go
I watched you grow
I watched you grow
Without eyes
I watched you grow

And I’ve been trailing
Ghostly figures wrapped in pain I’ll never know
Just to see if they’ll notice

Take off your bed
Tied to all that sleep
Descending motions
Air warmed with defeat

Set the sails
Out from under me
Those anchors on your eyes
Will disappear if you leave

II
Envy darts her wicked tongue
So slick with black desire
To chase the blood from passion and suffocate
The heart of ire
III
Inertia places her hips
Over barren seas
And drinks the lust to fill
Her
Insatiable greed
IV
Solace rests his blunted fangs
Too late
On torpor mottled skin
And echoes haste through empty halls
Still labyrinthine vessels
I**
Curiosity ensnares
Mortality, the wander self
With susurrus pulse and love
Drives caution to the slaughter

This phantom pain, comes haunting every second breath
The new ache mirroring the old, dressed in past’s clothes
I’m stepping on growing hopes, don’t want them to take root
Before they blind me
Can’t bear to close the distance on happiness
If it’s false I won’t let it be
If it’s false I’ve been blind since I could see
I’m wasting years of my life, days fly by, at a standstill with a racing mind
Been there for years
I swear I’ve let it go a thousand ******* times
If I could just let it go
I’m dwelling on coloured memories
‘Cause the black white truth ain’t all it’s built up to be
But it’s all I’ve ever seen
And it’s all I’ve ever wanted to see
There’s a time when you realise every promise is a lie, if a pretty one
If one you’d rather believe than the thought that the future is uncertainty
And that those laugh lines, those good times, carved from people you love
Will stay
Even if they all leave
And you wake every morning looking into those creases
Hoping one day they’ll bring you as much joy as you once had
But they’re just the consequence
It’s bittersweet

I am afraid of what my hands may write
   I’m not sure why….
most likely something to do with not wanting to hurt anything innocent
   but I suppose we all fail at that endeavor.

Fragile, beautiful things come into our hands and we break them,
   not purposefully, desiring not to **** a lovely thing…
but we can’t seem to help it,
    can’t seem to help hurting people we love.

It ought to have been different, no one should be made to laugh at their own dreams…

I don’t want to write anymore; I want the peace of sleep.
   But I have to write…to keep my soul from dying, I have to write…..
but the only person I want to say anything to doesn’t hear me.
    No matter how absurd the situation appears,
the emotions that we feel are all we have that keeps us alive.

Oceans separate people from each other….
    oceans that even psychonauts are loath to attempt a crossing of.
Anyone who ever believed in anything knows this:
   things ought to have been different….

But people can’t think about things like this all time;
  people aren’t able to go through all of the ******* that encompasses modern life while contemplating the mysteries of human experience.
   And when things get too complicated we run away…

We fear what we don’t understand,
   and I am afraid of you.
No one had ever turned me inside out like you.
No one has ever managed to cut through the crap and shake me to the core….
   except you….

But there’s no time to focus on that,
  there’s no time to focus on one another when the whole world is imposing itself on you.
How can we possibly be expected to delve into people’s souls
  when our mortgage is due eh?

Why should we have to feel the need to love someone
while having to maintain one’s sanity in order to survive?
Since isn’t that what love is…a kind of insanity;
  the kind of insanity where one’s ego is completely swept away.

Freud never loved…
  never could form the concept of ego death
into a beautiful thing…

Certain things will never be spoken aloud by me,
  only written of….
because I too am enslaved against my will by fear of the unknown….