I'm enslaved to a screen.
I can't remember wether I am a human being or not.
I've spent my days in solitude spreading my attitude through cyber space.
We all have a pretty face on the line.
Bring me back to reality where faces are larger than thumbs.
You're my number one avatar, lift me up, keep my eyes from staring at this world I never anticipated.
Keep me safe from all the hatred no one takes credit for and what's more I'll shield your eyes from the machine.
Our time is on the line, our time, is, on, the, line.
Beneath the surface, boiling blood,
A calloused, hardened soul,
Fragile hands of sticks and mud,
Still fighting for control,
On more hour, up in flames,
Another runaway train of thought,
Burn the pictures, sell the frames,
Pretend that I forgot,
Ashes, ashes, falling stars,
A prayer for reverie,
Concealed bruises, hidden scars,
Faded from skin, not memory.
Time, tell me what you are and how do you exist?
Tell me your secrets of how plots twist.
What is this linear lie, how does it persist?
I cannot hold even the smallest instance of you...
What is my story or rather, what am I?
And why does Death carry me to where I die.
In the cacophony of every single thing, I think and try.
You are there looming over everything I do.
This trepidation is mutually symbiotic
But, why does it sound so psychotic?
Because the mind is the ever ebb and flow of rhetoric.
So it must be Silence that holds what is true.
Poems.. That need to be heard when your in that world that adjust to you, giving your life more meaning of understanding who you are or how it gonna relate to you.. Moving on your time is always passing you it's either you slowly moving yourself or you moving to fast. but there will be a matter of time when things will puzzle out and show it self to you and shock you or amaze you for what it is or done.. But some have loose pieces keep you wondering or thinking just making you want to know what could it had be or couldn't be to began with...you can have the most perfect eyes an still be blind to things lying to yourself of what is right and convince to yourself that it is but your wrong it's wrong but your rather turn blind from it... I wonder how much fantasy and creative world's you can make until reality is big blurry vision to you
it's easy for me to forget about you
when you're not here
or is it because i don't love you enough?
i wonder if you think about me much
i'm sure more than i do
if you do,
and if you don't,
i'm sorry too.
there's always apart of me that is selfish
wanting you all to myself
and wanting you to love me as much
and now that you're back
i can't decide which i want best
because you have been away far too long
way too long.