Dec 2012
People ask if i am a ******
I say yes, i am waiting for marriage
I hear "good for you"
or "dude you gotta get laid"
still, a part of me doesn't believe what i say
Everyone has there Thorn?
i mean who hasn't looked at ****
but where does it stop
I have Never had ***
but i had a sick addiction
Filled by this simple prescription
Every night i ****** that ******* the little screen that taught me she was merely a possesion
I Just typed in those 3 letters
and it became an obsession
A black hole
Ripping apart time and space
Not even light would escape
And the only thing that mattered
Was me
Me, and that thing on the screen who nobody wanted to be
An object
Like a silly little toy
For those ****** up little boys
Who after batting you around
And shoving you in the ground
Just cram you back in that chest at the end of there bed
Like a ratty stuffed bear
No Love, No soft touch, no sweet embrace
I didn't even have to care
Why would I?
How could I?
You were just a wave of photons collapsing in my eye
to come and go as i pleased
projected from that ***** little screen
You were just a *****
to me
and not anything more.
In a place where i was supposed to have the deepest most intense connection
I would replicate with meaningless, emotionless self satisfaction
i would sow seeds of my own destruction every time i opened that link
where i was made to feel love and joy, i would only sink
becoming tangled in emptiness, i was lost, i was dying
like a bird drowning in a sea of stone
where no one would think to find me
No light would be shed on this pathetic part of my life
A life of darkness in that room where my face glows
and my pupils dilate
My fate slips from sight as i separate
Body from soul
I see myself Mindlessly staring at that dark light
It was a drug, My sick Addiction
I wasn't even trying to Fight
It consumed my Thoughts, took me from above
dissolving my capability to love
I tried to run
I didn't think
That without His hand
I will always sink
Back into that creaky chair
Where this beautiful creation of God, this person, this human being
Just becomes one of my daily rituals, self fulfilled
She becomes just a thing
In short, if i gave an honest answer, i am not a ******.
I say yes, i am waiting for marriage
I hear "good for you"
or "dude you gotta get laid"
still, a part of me doesn't believe what i say
Everyone has there Thorn?
i mean who hasn't looked at ****
but where does it stop
I have Never had ***
but i had a sick addiction
Filled by this simple prescription
Every night i ****** that ******* the little screen that taught me she was merely a possesion
I Just typed in those 3 letters
and it became an obsession
A black hole
Ripping apart time and space
Not even light would escape
And the only thing that mattered
Was me
Me, and that thing on the screen who nobody wanted to be
An object
Like a silly little toy
For those ****** up little boys
Who after batting you around
And shoving you in the ground
Just cram you back in that chest at the end of there bed
Like a ratty stuffed bear
No Love, No soft touch, no sweet embrace
I didn't even have to care
Why would I?
How could I?
You were just a wave of photons collapsing in my eye
to come and go as i pleased
projected from that ***** little screen
You were just a *****
to me
and not anything more.
In a place where i was supposed to have the deepest most intense connection
I would replicate with meaningless, emotionless self satisfaction
i would sow seeds of my own destruction every time i opened that link
where i was made to feel love and joy, i would only sink
becoming tangled in emptiness, i was lost, i was dying
like a bird drowning in a sea of stone
where no one would think to find me
No light would be shed on this pathetic part of my life
A life of darkness in that room where my face glows
and my pupils dilate
My fate slips from sight as i separate
Body from soul
I see myself Mindlessly staring at that dark light
It was a drug, My sick Addiction
I wasn't even trying to Fight
It consumed my Thoughts, took me from above
dissolving my capability to love
I tried to run
I didn't think
That without His hand
I will always sink
Back into that creaky chair
Where this beautiful creation of God, this person, this human being
Just becomes one of my daily rituals, self fulfilled
She becomes just a thing
In short, if i gave an honest answer, i am not a ******.
