I’ve felt the rhythm of the world,
Pulsating from an unknown source,
Illuminating every facet of existence.
Life and death are Illusions.
They are choices that we make,
As we drift asleep,
In the transitory second,
The twilight in between dreams and reality.
Preservation is unnaturally natural.
Everything will fade,
Everything will die,
Sustainment is useless,
Ignorant of facts, our brains think in Formaldehyde,
Doing anything to hold on to gold dust as it slips through our fingers.
I’ve been caught in this roundabout for as long as I remember,
Assured that the chain would never be broken,
Fearing what we can never know,
Fearing more what I truly understand.
Understanding allows for criticism,
People who hate themselves know themselves too well.
I’ve become so evasive towards touch;
I thought I was made with scissorhands,
Sharp blades, unable to satisfy what phantom limbs cannot feel,
Now I know that it is okay;
I am afraid.
And now I understand why.
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 19, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
I’ve felt the rhythm of the world,
Pulsating from an unknown source,
Illuminating every facet of existence.
Life and death are Illusions.
They are choices that we make,
As we drift asleep,
In the transitory second,
The twilight in between dreams and reality.
Preservation is unnaturally natural.
Everything will fade,
Everything will die,
Sustainment is useless,
Ignorant of facts, our brains think in Formaldehyde,
Doing anything to hold on to gold dust as it slips through our fingers.
I’ve been caught in this roundabout for as long as I remember,
Assured that the chain would never be broken,
Fearing what we can never know,
Fearing more what I truly understand.
Understanding allows for criticism,
People who hate themselves know themselves too well.
I’ve become so evasive towards touch;
I thought I was made with scissorhands,
Sharp blades, unable to satisfy what phantom limbs cannot feel,
Now I know that it is okay;
I am afraid.
And now I understand why.
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