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Apr 28
Simple life, lived as a vintage television set
Ornate, one of the few luxuries exclusively for the well off
Useless.
Kitschy
A banal dream with pleasures devoid of an iota of venom
In a construct, a forsaken place, a planet without form
A perfect encapsulation, almost a replica
Of status, a microcosm
Head in the clouds.
Soul in the blood and bone
Desperate, claimed slowly by unrepentant chunks of flesh
I see the breeze on the horizon, sweeping through the fields

So I
Wake up

I never expected. It's not something I asked for.
But I rise all the same.
Once more, one more story to add to the pile

And as it turns out, I found the cure
Deep within the growths sprouting, and the sick smell
To rise once more
In the conclusion of it, I was an island to myself, but I felt at peace.
As my boots strike the sand, and my heart sinks a little lower
The pinch doesn't feel quite as real.

I could take some dedication to the facts that remain, as a claimant
Vigor worn to a shaggy pulp, my lungs crumble in a wave of synthetic dust
The scorn faced, the harsh lights shone on me, the blistering heat...
Unforgivable, as any reasonable man might conclude
I absolve no one of anything, but it all slips further from my mind, day in and day out
If I want it too or not.

To be so sure I'm awake...
How crazy am I?
The whole world breathes, exhales, in a layer of grey smoke, that soon condenses into clouds to shade me personally in my inaccessible fantasy.

The whole world's slipping further into those muted, docile gray shades.
A whole symphony of colors for these starved eyes
So hollow now...
Along barren halls, I'll run my fingers, across the faces of dead, rotted saints and take my gratification
In simple motions, drinking in the vibrancy, all the intricacy bleeding through the mock notions of simplicity

It didn't feel real then. I remember it all, in vivid detail
In those few moments, though branched and snaking through the tunnels of my fleshy wiring
I didn't feel anything.

The pinch doesn't feel real anymore
I can touch the sides of the sink.
My fingers, with gentle pressure applied, can sink into my skin
It only seems to matter when I touch it...

I stopped bothering doing it, a long time ago
It slipped from my memory
Saint Audrey
Written by
Saint Audrey  Neither/I don't even know anymore
(Neither/I don't even know anymore)   
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