Oh, how i think living is such a terrible tragedy Falling and faltering while you cradle me in your arms My skin burns where we touch and connect I can feel this agony I can feel myself writhe in pain when you hold me Nothing but comforting touches and platonic affection Yet i still burn with discomfort
What is this great calamity What is this god if not my captor My religion must be you they tell me But i am still falling and faltering And burning in this torment If i push you out of my mind And ignore the words of my peers Will I find peace? Or will I still live in this never ending desolation
im falling and falling and falling and yet i never land at rock bottom, somehow that worse than anything i could ever imagine.
The skylight tints the afternoon grey And some dull, dusty oranges Perhaps there's fire, somewhere far away Somewhere far beyond the creaking shelves The time-varnished brown, rusty door hinges
The air is thicker than the oldest tomes Sticky as the darkest aisle Where long-dead spiders once made their homes Minds caught in paper, minds caught in webs I think, if I think, I'll sleep for awhile
Without past, without intervention, it is spectating. Memories are few, present is new, none can see, and none can hear, the role of a spectator. To see yet not do, to hear yet not say, spectator are lonely beings.
Sleeps... A single step feels like thousand leaps. The people are near, yet sounds are not here. Fear is near, but people are nowhere here. Alone, the fear is severe, with no one here, how can I cheer?