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Paul Milton Jul 2011
Who am I?
Who stands in solitude waiting for the passing of sorrow in a vortex of chaos?
What are these feelings?
That drown out the echo of what once was love, and intensifies an obsession that is not healthy for the mind?
Is there hope?
That should bring forth the darkness within, purifying the heart that once beat your voice?
Why am I sad when I'm near you?

I open my arms to express words that pain my throat.
Swallow the smoke from a cigarette I promised I'd never smoke.
I sink deeper into the darkness;
My soul looks for ascension and purification,
I wonder why we can't become one?

In the morning my eyes open and tears rush out.
It felt like I'd realized the meaning.
Only to once again be surrounded by darkness and deceit.
Is suicide the proof of life?

I hold out my arms to pick up the fragile glass of a broken heart.
Please, give me something that causes pain; something sharp enough to stab a heart.
Your tears won't compensate.
How do we prove our living?

The values of morality begin to look cruel.
I'll sit and embrace the surrounding darkness.
This is a nightmare that won't pass.

I'll set the conditions of my life tomorrow,
I'll take it day by day to find the proof.
Erasing your memory won't change you.
Do you think it will make everything go away?
It's not avoidance, it's cowardice.

I'll tattoo the numbers in my face and seal my fate.
After all, it's everyone's best intention.
Still, there is darkness.
471 · Jul 2011
Feed the Eyes
Paul Milton Jul 2011
The crumbling walls expose the rough edges
Of when remains spelled words
Particles of sentences that meant nothing
Shall we seat and wait? Or shall we dance to time's song?
Looking for meaning that which never existed,
Time passes us by and we're drunk with the sight
Of a crumbling world; destruction signifying beauty.

It isn't chance that defines the mind,
The limits expand but remain abstract;
An elusive concept that bring the powerful to tears.
It was all part of the Plan that followed the Fall.
Our stomachs' upset as smoke cannot substitute food;
Humanity's physicality piles up in the form of corpses.
Feed the eyes the unsettling picture of a world we choose to ignore

Malignant tumors spread to the joints
Immobile men we soon become; put the blindfolds on
A machine will **** us up--think now if it was all worth it?
Don't count on an apocalypse; don't thread on the past
We'll end up shallow, living a thousand lives. Lets toast to what is not destruction,
Nor an ending--just a fitting "something".

Is the sun bothering the eyes? Only the natural,
Only the real can cause that! Alas, it's all a dream,
An unfortunate taste of an alternate reality
Why do humans dream? It's a connection,
To a life hidden by unexplainable theorems.
The beautiful understanding of semantics
That truly brings no calmness after to this anxiety.

— The End —