My life, my existence Has become Cigarettes, ***, indigo ink Wishing, to make it Through the day And wishing I had The guts to die I hope, secretly For a stranger A human shaped hurricane Someone new Who doesn't know my history Someone to set me free My perfect, imperfect Stranger Wherever can you be?
When I am dead, reclaim me When I am dead, our earth Though it will be mine, no more Will reclaim me It will have my body Like hyenas, upon my empty carcass Or crows, on battle fields I shall cease to be My body will be of the earth Because in these, once, the vessels of our opinion and our prejudice Are things, that allow For one more day One infinitesimal second They allow, the earth, to limp on Existing, decaying For one day longer
Another 20p in the jukebox Another has-been song The bar is full of people Each one moving along They exist, satisfied In their own small bubble Each person is alone This is what we call a life This is all we've ever known
I am floating, drowning In a *** dream Words float, about me Out of reach, as I am out of touch Here and there, a wanderer But I do not call to them I see them, they try To mend nets, to close the holes Retain some of the cosmos That slip through I hear their low, anguished moans Moving through, a dream of dreaming Clocks, melting into a pool of abstract As time itself ceases to believe I wake, clocks are solid The universe is not running Reality reigns again
Four shots of *** Then I write Grandiose, I soliloquise And my pen tracks across the page Talking of being forgotten As they themselves shall be Then, my mind afire, and exhausted I collapse, into the oblivion of sleep This is but practice for death I wake, and the process begins anew
I came, or was ****** Into the world A half formed thing I have limped through life The waters of the universe Slip through my fingers I cannot cup my left hand To catch the falling stars Nor have I, all my brain With which to comprehend The nothing, that is our existence I have existed, set back Striving, for chances To be, the same I have thrown away Gold gilt books, of wisdom And sweet fruits of life To follow others, to rot And ruination, to be in company To feel normal, and be not alone
I am a chance Standing on the back of great improbability Formed by sheer coincidence And the random vastness of the universe Yet I am supposed to Believe? In meaning, purpose, no How may I? My very essence What mystics call a soul Is but the product Of a million, random Bizzare happenings That impressed themselves Forcefully upon my psyche How then, if this, is 'life' May I believe In meaning, or purpose How, I wonder
The raindrops touch, my skin And then are gone, absorbed To be dead Until I sweat, or **** Or weep bitter tears I wonder, what they witnessed Created in high, tumultuous clouds To fall, to fall amidst Lightning and thunder To experience such Only to die, mere feet From the earth Because of one, such as I