Jun 2014
There is
Never enough time.
I see the body
In its lowest state,
Filled with poisons and
Mistakes.
Though, the music
Is nice to hear and
Old friends who smile weakly
Into the sun
Remind me of my youth,
My parents, when
Things were not easy, not hard.
When things were just that:
Things.
Yet it's hard to believe
To believe in believing.
There is so much.
And it's hard to see when
You've been seeing that way
For so long, yet
One wants to change.
Every animal stays the same,
Except for us.
We are the only ones
Willing to destroy for ourselves.
The bullets and the knives and the gas
Spread over the land like a death fog.
One day there will be nowhere to run.
Mother nature will not be there with her *****.
She will leave and we the ones who've sent her away.
Silver ores her eyes, pine needles her smile,
Her arms and legs stretching forth
One thousand and one million miles.
It's a sad day
When one no longer
Listens to themselves.
Feels themselves.
Touches themselves.
When you lose yourself
To the noisy temptations
Of the outside world and are lost
Like a leaf in river
Like a feather in a gale
Like a heart on the shoulder
And everything starts to feel
A little bit older and you
Start to think about death and how
Boring it truly is.
I'm more put off by my own predictable demise
Than afraid of it.
Sometimes I hover the knife around the neck
Just to see if the wind will
Push it so.
Sometimes no control is better than all of it.
Sometimes it's good just to listen.
Acting all the time must get old and I see these
Fake smiles with dead eyes knee jerking with headshot
And resumes, hoping for that next big job.
More smiles.
More head nods.
More handshakes.
More lies and money.
More promises unworthy
Of being remembered.
But,
What else is there
Except the constant butchering
Of the truth.
It keeps us fighting.
It keeps us searching.
It keeps us on our feet
Rather than on our backs
In the grave.
And when I lay my weary head
On the pillow or the dirt, the rock, where have you,
And I blink my last blink and
Sigh my last breath,
I will think of you, dear reader and dear page,
And how well and how little
I knew you.
The only way this was ever going to work
Was by separation
And by trust.
We are just drifting contradictions
Who love and hate and live and die,
Screaming beautiful magic until
We can't scream
Anymore.
Never enough time.
I see the body
In its lowest state,
Filled with poisons and
Mistakes.
Though, the music
Is nice to hear and
Old friends who smile weakly
Into the sun
Remind me of my youth,
My parents, when
Things were not easy, not hard.
When things were just that:
Things.
Yet it's hard to believe
To believe in believing.
There is so much.
And it's hard to see when
You've been seeing that way
For so long, yet
One wants to change.
Every animal stays the same,
Except for us.
We are the only ones
Willing to destroy for ourselves.
The bullets and the knives and the gas
Spread over the land like a death fog.
One day there will be nowhere to run.
Mother nature will not be there with her *****.
She will leave and we the ones who've sent her away.
Silver ores her eyes, pine needles her smile,
Her arms and legs stretching forth
One thousand and one million miles.
It's a sad day
When one no longer
Listens to themselves.
Feels themselves.
Touches themselves.
When you lose yourself
To the noisy temptations
Of the outside world and are lost
Like a leaf in river
Like a feather in a gale
Like a heart on the shoulder
And everything starts to feel
A little bit older and you
Start to think about death and how
Boring it truly is.
I'm more put off by my own predictable demise
Than afraid of it.
Sometimes I hover the knife around the neck
Just to see if the wind will
Push it so.
Sometimes no control is better than all of it.
Sometimes it's good just to listen.
Acting all the time must get old and I see these
Fake smiles with dead eyes knee jerking with headshot
And resumes, hoping for that next big job.
More smiles.
More head nods.
More handshakes.
More lies and money.
More promises unworthy
Of being remembered.
But,
What else is there
Except the constant butchering
Of the truth.
It keeps us fighting.
It keeps us searching.
It keeps us on our feet
Rather than on our backs
In the grave.
And when I lay my weary head
On the pillow or the dirt, the rock, where have you,
And I blink my last blink and
Sigh my last breath,
I will think of you, dear reader and dear page,
And how well and how little
I knew you.
The only way this was ever going to work
Was by separation
And by trust.
We are just drifting contradictions
Who love and hate and live and die,
Screaming beautiful magic until
We can't scream
Anymore.
