The green, the blue, the red, the understanding in trichromacy,
And our optical miracle is used to tsk the voice of science?
But bubbling away under my eyelids where all the empathy is,
The meanings are fixed by a constant disintegration.
Force in which our major sense relies,
Is not a creation but destruction.
I cannot look now for fear of knowing,
The only truth behind that smile,
Is a soul shattering each second of contact,
And a window where the glass writhes.
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
The green, the blue, the red, the understanding in trichromacy,
And our optical miracle is used to tsk the voice of science?
But bubbling away under my eyelids where all the empathy is,
The meanings are fixed by a constant disintegration.
Force in which our major sense relies,
Is not a creation but destruction.
I cannot look now for fear of knowing,
The only truth behind that smile,
Is a soul shattering each second of contact,
And a window where the glass writhes.