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sits in the dusty room and slowly turns the hand crank on the wretched machine unfolding a hundred sinister faces grinning unleashing a thousand bare feet knuckling the threadbare carpet leading out to sunshine dawn is almost upon us and the truth i must face up to is merciless and it eats at the scarred surface of my soul this factory of madness i must abandon this pleasure palace of the sinister i must leave this small world that i at least understood i stand on the threshold and peer uncertain out to the world that shocks me how will i contain it how will i master this vast place i cannot even silence the fearful beating of my heart i am alone in this world i feel what it is to be crushed benith the weight of indifference the paper with the hundred sinister faces and thousand bare feet gathers raindrops on the bus stops floor no longer able to unleash a power to sustain me the paper is but a rancid cartoon and weak reminder of worlds left behind i shrink ever further into the shadows hoping not to be seen by the real sinister faces not to be benith the thousand real bare feet knuckling threadbare lives they rule i am alone and afraid in the real world
0
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 7:51 PM UTC
a hundred sinister faces
sits in the dusty room and slowly turns the hand crank on the wretched machine unfolding a hundred sinister faces grinning unleashing a thousand bare feet knuckling the threadbare carpet leading out to sunshine dawn is almost upon us and the truth i must face up to is merciless and it eats at the scarred surface of my soul this factory of madness i must abandon this pleasure palace of the sinister i must leave this small world that i at least understood i stand on the threshold and peer uncertain out to the world that shocks me how will i contain it how will i master this vast place i cannot even silence the fearful beating of my heart i am alone in this world i feel what it is to be crushed benith the weight of indifference the paper with the hundred sinister faces and thousand bare feet gathers raindrops on the bus stops floor no longer able to unleash a power to sustain me the paper is but a rancid cartoon and weak reminder of worlds left behind i shrink ever further into the shadows hoping not to be seen by the real sinister faces not to be benith the thousand real bare feet knuckling threadbare lives they rule i am alone and afraid in the real world
for reginald and his sinister cartoon...i wish i could get you back to the safty of your ivory tower...some people were never meant for this cold world
mark-john-junor-1
Written by
mark-john-junor-1
59/M/American
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 7:51 PM UTC
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