not order, now nor chaos
no peace and no distress
reflections of each other
in this beautiful mess.

The most beautiful man
I ever saw
in an alley
with broken teeth
waiting to die.

And I still
don't know why.

If I cannot find a reason
what's the meaning of the word?

Was it just the dream of confines
that now it deems absurd?

Betrayal,
that cold *****
we shove into the corner,
forgetting she's the innocent daughter
of promises we thought we'd made
before.

So hide her behind more.

Look at my photograph,
I'm so happy
I've got to show it to you.

Or read my words,
I'm so content
I've got to share it.

Or feel my heart,
it's so strong
I need to hear it.

We take some words
(the ones we're looking at)
isolate them into fact
it's easier to interact
(keep looking the same way)

Words become worlds
(or they were already)
only seen in conflict
but prefer to walk away
(tomorrow can dismiss today)

Then I find my self
(or them, can I tell?)
in the clash between our worlds
still, before the end they quit
(pick up what I can of it)

Build it back up into me
(what else is night for?)
So desperate for a map,
some kind of line to follow
(I can finally be something again)

So I become what I consider myself to be
(or it becomes through me)
a function between worlds of words
an ill defined equality
(it makes whatever sense now means to me)


An ever more abstract version
(of an abstracted version)
of someone,
trying their best to be me

So what is time?
your concept not mine

Meaningless years,
slingshot round the sun
fade, and disappear...

Arbitrate me,
with former days of ****,
drunken on this power
it beggars my belief.


We could leap off a cliff,
you could fly with me,
through this moment, our Eternity.

And lose nothing.

So what is time?
When You've always been right here?


On your face,
it looks more like fear.