Feb 2018
Perilously, pensively yet properly,
The good morning text left my phone,
Another day, another world of unhappiness,
The blue planet is taking itself too literally.
So sad, so sad is probably the happiest song I've heard in a while,
There's something to be said about mixing depressing lyrics with happy beats.
Like cherry flavored poison served as an Apéritif.
The sharp and blinding pain unlike any physical hurt, made to feel like a cadaver on a dissection table. It is getting hard to breath, the air seems to escape my lungs quicker than I can inhale.
Each morning, a painful wake filled with hopes and expectations shattered by the everyday diffidence of existence. Unread. Still. Unheard. His voice keeps falling to deaf ears.
Pain has become beautiful through poetry, through painting, through sculptures. But there is no beauty in this fear. There is no beauty in lost hope and lost love. Where is she?
An hour in a second. The clockstopper ruins my sleep. The insomniac and I are best friends. We talk about god as the devil's favorite white coat. I'm living lives death cannot seem to find. I beckon him, pleading yet the road lies undiscovered. There is darkness that even Hades fires cannot light.
I get up and pull on the face that I stole. I feel its alcohol ridden stench. It feels odd as I practice a smile within it. It seems familiar, I've seen it since birth. But its not mine. It belonged to a happier man.
The good morning text left my phone,
Another day, another world of unhappiness,
The blue planet is taking itself too literally.
So sad, so sad is probably the happiest song I've heard in a while,
There's something to be said about mixing depressing lyrics with happy beats.
Like cherry flavored poison served as an Apéritif.
The sharp and blinding pain unlike any physical hurt, made to feel like a cadaver on a dissection table. It is getting hard to breath, the air seems to escape my lungs quicker than I can inhale.
Each morning, a painful wake filled with hopes and expectations shattered by the everyday diffidence of existence. Unread. Still. Unheard. His voice keeps falling to deaf ears.
Pain has become beautiful through poetry, through painting, through sculptures. But there is no beauty in this fear. There is no beauty in lost hope and lost love. Where is she?
An hour in a second. The clockstopper ruins my sleep. The insomniac and I are best friends. We talk about god as the devil's favorite white coat. I'm living lives death cannot seem to find. I beckon him, pleading yet the road lies undiscovered. There is darkness that even Hades fires cannot light.
I get up and pull on the face that I stole. I feel its alcohol ridden stench. It feels odd as I practice a smile within it. It seems familiar, I've seen it since birth. But its not mine. It belonged to a happier man.
