The truth,
The lies,
The pleasure,
And love,
All things that when told,
Still have a time when it hurts...
You come at the best of times,
And the hardest part is when I cannot cry,
You leave me here to lie between,
Beddings and sheets,
And as much as one cares to weep,
You instill this repercussion of my sanity,
Leaving a shut down,
Like when a computer... shuts down,
However it's crazy right?
How the shut down leads to a standby,
But when you're dealing with two parts,
It is not the machine no,
But merely the display,
As it, replays a signal,
That there is no signal,
There is nothing feeding the monitor,
There is no rest for the screen,
Always on,
Slowly.... dying,
As soon as it activates,
It is consuming,
Consuming the complex knowledge,
Energy,
And memory,
Of what is,
Was,
or will be,
And what became,
To create the distinction and difference between man and machine,
Is the stand,
And the costume,
As I stand here,
Staring at what is merely the imaginative reality,
The one I've always talked,
Dreamed,
Discussed...
What is the truth,
The lie,
When I love,
Hate the feeling,
I told myself,
When you are on the other side...
Does it still hurt?
I've been dealing with my insanity these past few years since I've last wrote. I've been writing but, merely hiding, I'm glad I could reach the surface again to unfold the stories
