A box of rusted feelings hides in the salvaged yard of my mind.
Jagged sorrows and broken promises surround the dismembered machinery,
forgotten and guarded.
The old dog with his once beastly growl, no longer cares who leaves or stays.
The dirt below, slowly pulling
forming his final resting place.
Shabby parts like tired looks rot under thunderstorms of powering weather.
Torn threads like once relationships, patched and torn asunder
The Stacks pile high, a top the years of mistakes
The box slowly sinks
heaving more and more heartbreaks
A metaphor for the pain we pile up
Welcome to the informational age
We're enjoy the world of technology
Never felt this modern world could emerge
Magical world with braveness and courage.
Welcome to the social media age
As everything we do is on page
We live like birds in a cage
It makes us falling into a rage.
Welcome to the insane and madness age
To make headlines,create a **** sweet savage
Can't believe we're on this stage
But we are still holding our grudge.
Welcome to the sweetest scientific age
Your reputation,you better manage
Like passenger manage it, as your luggage
Saving it, save safe from the salvage.
every footstep taken
sinks slightly more
into this marshland, into life
can i cast my hand out
and have her catch it
or will even the attempt
be yet another misstep
Have you ever seen a bird of prey
Flying high above the sky so blue
Even this heat that enduring the day
Waiting to meet the bird of prey
Up above little they known
With no problem nor struggle as they flown
Dancing like naked indians as i lay
As i wait for the bird of prey
Minutes gone by and he land beside me
Helping me with my suffering
Thinking it as a God wanting to feed me
Save me bird of prey save me
The bird move closer
As my vision gone blunder
Pain shook my skin and water surrounds my body
Oh thank you for being death bird of prey
I ran through woods of shadows
Tripped upon rocks and roots
Stumbling, falling and back to my feet
Through north, south and east
To the quiet caves of lost souls
I heard voices, footsteps behind me
Around I turned, to thin air they vanished
I turned to the west tunnel in full speed ahead
But just before I got to the light at the tunnel's end
A mighty fist struck me down the rocky ground
I crawled in pains, the rocks I grabbed
Yet in its claws of pains I'm trapped
Ruthlessly it plugged out my eye *****
And crunched it like cheese *****
I felt it's claws on my neck as I screened for help
To the point you kissed my lips
And saved me from my nightmare
It's happened on your last watch.
In a lonesome salvage yard,
she - who was raised by machines - like
an electric shadow on a hopeless, desolate street in Berlin,
was risen by
the taste of your swallowed tears as bitter as gall,
the music of your careless heartbeats singing
its own song of rust,
exhaling radiowaves for picture and thus
bring you into life again
by reshaping the man - from the sounds of wind chimes
and piano accords - who you were
more than half a life ago.
I admire you where sunny climes made my final leg more than before our place to wager with isosceles unwritten to really improve our vacation that never forbidden in pleasure and so much tantamount risen upon sands where you may philander though concentric in flight without any interruption to fornicate bliss but in our retirement went thoughtless in our fortunes to become these timeless tracks in ventures with uncontrollable polarity that dance in utmost knowledge evermore.
A vacation for two of us in nowhere.
Out of the shattered pieces,
they're strung together thoughtfully,
into misery's kind of humor.
A humor that's painfully beautiful–
that only the heart broken find funny.
Like a joke is to comedy,
poetry is often to misery.
*So wear your broken heart on your sleeve,
proud and unashamed. To comfort broken hearts alike,
that there is still much beauty to salvage.
My heart is waiting like a ticking time bomb,
And my brain is eroding like a boulder in a river.
My lips are moving like thick toxic sludge,
And my hate burns inside like a blazing inferno.
Way out of homeostasis like Pluto's orbit,
Ready to fall apart at any given moment.
I'm a broken boy that couldn't fire a gun,
But always could pull the trigger in laughter.
And all I want is to talk.
Not just to anybody,
But to him,
That's all I want,
And the tools are inside,
Melting in my hate.
I hope they're still usable,
But I know they're barely salvageable.
The inferno gives me scars,
Lets hope they don't show.