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my moral metabolism escapes me
trapped in decaying flesh
these combustible meanings
and disarming thoughts
it's like seeing the word in greyscale
through canine eyes
translating the future into wet dreams
and false disciplines
we move mountains but see only jewels
brainwashed societies block out sun rays
and trap beasts within walls

eat my heart
I no longer want it
make me a tin can
program me
create an automaton
I'd rather see in greyscale
it's pale I know
but it doesn't hurt
to lack feelings when they should be present
depend only on my metallic casings
become indifferent to this worlds meaningless agony
my notions and emotions
these eyes will be void of consciousness
lost in unoccupied nothingness
believe me
delete me
reformat my existence
I want to see in greyscale
I S A A C Mar 2022
i like to revel in the grey
black and white too straight
i like to read in between the lines
i would like for you to be mine
but only if you want to
I only want you in this room, underneath the full moon
kiss until it’s noon, is forever too soon?
from dusk to dawn, the king or the pawn
as long as you want to play, my hand is yours to take
from weak to strong, we can build each other up
as long as you want to lay, always together through the night and day
Homunculus Jul 2016
A few days ago, North Korea said that the imposition of sanctions by the United States amounted to an open "declaration of war" and went on to state that in response to military exercises to be carried out by the US and South Korean armies, that they are "fully ready to cope with them with nuclear weapons any time,” Okay. Let me just make one thing abundantly clear: these jokers have been talking this game for the last four decades, and it has all amounted to precisely nil

As regards Kim Jong-Un, I will ask that I be excused by my reader for the brief detour into contemporary African-American Vernacular English that this piece will now take. (crack knuckles, clear throat, hawk phlegm, adjust junk) Dear Kim: You ain't ****. *******, and your little ***** *** on some old *******. You ain't ****, you ain't never gon' be ****, and you never was ****. Furthermore, you ain't standin' on **** but a failed state and a fast-fading personality cult. All we hear is talk, talk, talk, talk, every year from you and your decrepit, syphilis riddled father before you; and quite frankly, it's getting old. Boring, even.

Do it, we dare you. See what happens, you glorified, overfed man-baby. You blurry greyscale xerox of Mao's bloated corpse. You, who have mistook a flimsy house of cards for an ironclad fortress. You naked emperor. You, whose very 'empire' is the deformed and emaciated plant which reluctantly sprang from a salted and desolate earth. You, whose 'hermit kingdom' constantly shrinks toward zero while the entire world watches, laughing!

We rest assured of the emptiness your threats. We can topple your house of cards at the flick of a wrist. In one fell swoop, our elite tactical urban forces will subvert and destroy your poorly trained, weakly organized, and honestly pitiful excuse for a nation. Why, if we wanted it, you'd be gone in a New York minute. And don't even try to come at us with tough talk about nukes. *****, we been had nukes, and here's the thing: ours are bigger, better, and more numerous than yours. You push that button, and we bomb your sorry little ***** back into the stone. You EMP us, our allies bomb you for us. Bearing all these considerations in mind, I once again reiterate:

WE AIN'T SCARED OF YOU. COME TEST US!

(drop mic, walk away)
But in all seriousness: There's just something deep down in the collective consciousness of this country, perhaps even humanity generally, that secretly yearns, that requires, desires, and *pines away* for the glorious spectacle of the theater of war, isn't there? Something in us seems, beneath a surface layer of fear, to ask, nay to *implore* with all the swaggering braggadocio of a drunken frat boy: "Fight me. I dare you. See what happens." That subconscious, primal need to attain brute superiority in outward, tribalistic displays of dominance projects itself onto the global stage: But how, then, are we to understand this mechanism, and what are some of its consequences? Upon closer inspection, we will find the practical consequences of this act to be twofold. On the one hand: By generating this spectacle, the media are able to use it as a tool for maintaining within the public a mixture of frenzy at one pole and detached complacency at the other. By giving them a violent conflict to participate in vicariously, the war at once (a) creates for them an abstract, nationalistic identity, (b) sublimates their violent impulses, and (c) distracts their attention away from the material conditions of life in the country where the spectacle is being broadcast; effectively stifling the imperative to rebel against those conditions where they might otherwise have been taken as unjust. War pacifies, war stupefies, and above all war unifies. On the other hand, the previously mentioned tendency to outwardly display dominance serves as an effective means for geopolitical elites and those striving to be such, to affirm reaffirm their hegemony on the world stage by making ****** examples of those that would presume to cross them. In this regard, there is perhaps no greater or more apt an example than the twin bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in the second world war.

There is much more to be said about these matters in seriousness, but for the sake of brevity, I leave it here.
Nothing Much Feb 2015
I've gotten so used to greyscale
On this faulty monitor
That I've almost forgotten what colors look like
As they dance across the screen

I have had enough of this monochromatic monotony
So I snip wires, rip out cords
Do anything I can to see if I can get the color back
The only cable I leave alone is the one connecting it to the wall

I stand there in the robotic wreckage
And see a bit of red blinking on the screen
My world is not yet in technicolor
But this is a start.
:^/
Brianna Jan 2016
Lately I’m obsessed with the black and white photos of the world. The way they bring out the details you didn’t think you’d see in your life.
Lately I’m obsessed with the hidden greyscale of my life. The little spots or blemishes I didn’t know I had in between the cracks of my mind.

Lately I’m obsessed with knowing all I can know about how to forget my past. How to find those ancient remedies or dark coffees and fruity teas that will stop the pain in my heart for a little while.

Even though these obsessions seem so tiny compared to my big thoughts and wild dreams.. I can’t stop thinking of what’s next. Mystery lies on the horizon of my new obsession & how I will handle it.
Max Alvarez Mar 2014
I want to tell her
But i can't.

I watch the spring rain fall.
A gentle tapping,
Sort of rapping
On the window's pane.

I focus on the sound until it fades.

I close my eyes and remember the day,
The scene is painted in a greyscale haze.
There stands you
Across the room
Enveloped in blue.
Your favorite colour.
It's late on that late winter's night,
And we're with our group.
If I said I knew who was there
I would be lying
Because it was you I was eyeing.
I'll skip the cliches, like
Butterflies
Or, better yet,
"Love at first sight"
Be as they may,
They all came true that night.


A casual glance became
A gaze became
A smile.
Once,
Twice,
Thrice,
Then Five,
We held it for a while.


I take a drink and pause the haze.


Minutes become hours that drag on for miles
We found ourselves in that grassy field
Dotted with trees,
And rabbits,
And owls.


A hot summer day-
The south suffers waves.
Hand in hand we make our way
Through the trail.
We fall behind our friends,
There's something I have to tell.
I stumble and fumble
Through letters to string,
I can't think of what to say.
And you say it's okay.
I smile and hold you close,
A mixed sense of pleasure morose.
Your lips touch mine,
And my heart explodes.
I can't believe we let each other go
We became 'twixt,
Ivy to our bones.


Again
Time lapses
There I am standing
There you are
Hanging
On him.
My rage demanding
His end.
But you come between
Deny instead.
Say I'm not right in the head,
Well, baby,
Love killed me dead.


I turn to walk away
And in turn you turn to
Return to he
Who shook your leaves.


So we've parted ways
And all was well
Until recently.
When I examined
A mural
And saw I missed a shard.
A blue tile
The final part
To my stain-glassed heart.
Feedback?
Megan Jones Sep 2015
“Put pressure on it, it needs more pressure”
Holding your wounds shut
That senseless force is what took you away
Pressure- to be... whilst not desiring to be
You saw the clouds moving in greyscale
I saw the hills below scattered in shades of green,
Cavernous, shadowed, cryptic, familiar-

We were advised to go as the crow flies
I cried to a nameless God that your crow’s feet
Were from insurmountable happiness, not the pressures endured
I’ve forgotten much since the storm some-178 weeks ago
Though my body remembers yours over and over again
My skin has yours imprinted, correlated
Forged into one point on the axis between here and there
You the X, I the Y

The Earth crept between the crevices, curling
Through the distance between the Right radius and ulna
Elbows breaking knuckles, blood remains to be spilt
Blood doesn’t connect, if anything it merely separates

Scarecrows don’t help much when the crops won’t grow this year
Ants crawled out of the barrel of a shotgun
Observing the process of cleaning bones after tragedy

Follow the moss to find your way North with no direction-
Sometimes on the other side it’s not greener,
It’s more terrifying than ever before
Terrain untouched, unspoiled, sacred-

Climb up the trees with me, find your quiet
We won’t carve our names but we’ll find our niche
You’ll have quills and I’ll have armor
Not even the thought of stolen arrows,
Lost time through distance,
Or perhaps a slew of chemical imbalances
Can reach us up here
I chose to glue your pieces back together with mud and straw
Taken from the fallen, the loved and now distant memories

You may be an abandoned military base offshore
What was once used by many-
Witnesses life again, life of a different kind
The vegetation will ease its way into the cracks
Constructed when the foundation began to decay
It has a beauty of its own, one of self-sustainment
An everlasting beauty that connects itself
To the surrounding extravagance, often times ignored,
Death isn’t the only way to be forged into nature, remembered

Fear doesn’t always win, nor death do us part so soon
I hope your skin and bones remember before the end
morgan Mar 2014
As your slick irises grow glassy with salted liquid,
my painted smile is washed away with your emotional tide,
Your bedroom now a hidden cove of turbulent secrets,
My arms turned salted statues from your burdened waters,

I begin to drown.
A bee rippling across my swimming pool.
You were the danger I watched struggle to survive,
All until I could bear it no longer.
So I sacrificed my sanity for the pain of your frantic sting,
All hoping just to dry your wings with my soft breath murmuring comforts.

Did I know your downfall would be mine?

You finish soaking tissues with your tear ducts,
And my mouth crumples inward,
Your bedroom now trembles with sounds of fading footsteps,
My arms left yearning to replace their aches with yours.
David May 2013
**** mine eyes,
For I wrap them in the sun of days made shade by these specter hands,
That's right you're a nightly spectacle set upon a dial counting days with your fingertips sewing these lips with a strand of the melancholy black band string,
Ring the twelfth bell toll to tell tales of the twilight nights not kept by dreams, it seems my seams shall not snap against these silent sounds of reasoning,
For I am bathing in the bath of my backwards ways,
Oh emotions ocean, will your motion swallow me?
Can I be like your sons, walking on water with wooden ships,
No,
For by my burning rights,
My heart is embers,
I remember that my covenant would sink me,
So think of me,
I'm at the bottom of the sea,
You'll find me in the grave of lesser explorations,
Where all the sailors sleep,
Reaping seeds of defeat,
Sewn into water,
Water without end,
Lo,
Waves wash over my body
Crashing against your feet
The sea has taken me,
Whole
Soulace May 2017
If you paint me dark, like a devil
I hope you see the angel in me.

If you paint me in light, like an angel
I hope you see the devil in me

I hope you paint me as human though,
Because then, you can see both.

And then hopefully you can see
The other colours in me
Wrote this thinking about how people's perspectives on you change literally in the matter of a single instance. How your name can be slandered after a single mistake kinda thing. Thought it be interesting to write something about it :o
Ar Feb 2015
I saw a rainbow, 

Looking at our dreadful situation. 

You notice the colors it gives,

But,
It's the inverted smile I see, 

Like happiness faltering to its curve,

Just masking it with ROYGBIV.

Even so,
It never fails to share every hue, 

To lift every mouths to grin,

And to give color to the greyscale scene.
A random poem for a random day after randomly seeing a random rainbow.
Liz And Lilacs Mar 2016
You walk with such purpose
in a world where
I can see no purpose.
I wanted to talk you,
to ask how you manage
to appear like you've found meaning
in this monochromatic world.
but i am all shades of the same color
and how could reach beyond my place
to approach someone of so many hues.
"All the world's a prison."
shåi Oct 2014
when the colours
seem to fade away
nothing feels
ever quite the same

my dear,
you seem to paint galaxies
in many ways
i never knew

you would open
up the night sky
and tell me everything in it
was all mine

you made sparks of white
to light up the whole sky
show the assorted amounts
of stars for me

you loved me like black
loves white,
infinite and never dying

(b.d.s.)
sorry for the long hiatus... shai is back now and you all get a bunch of poems :) comment away
Kyle Kulseth May 2014
Woke up in a dream under asphalt trees
soaked in the sap of the sweltering city
wearing these old rat rags
               and sneering at the concrete
Greyscale mindset stitched into my sleeve

This town'll ******' **** ya
               and drop a coin on your grave
dig your way up to the daylight
and hang on to your *****

                    Waking up
                    Snapping out.
                   It's not so easy, is it?
                  Waking up and snapping out...

The barge is afloat on the sidewalk streams
Burns in the summer, ******* doused in Spring
the bums puke in corners
               children ***** in the alleys
Sinking hulks. "Abandon ship!" on the galleys

These waves'll ******* **** ya
and pull you down in the deep
this dream ain't worth waking for
        But we can't get to sleep.
Ahhhhffrrggg May 2014
I feel like I'm turning into a grey can of paint.
Y'see, pretty much everything is either black or white to me.
But for a long time, I've been noticing that I'm more stuck in this grey parabole in the middle. I'm always saying things like, "I do know, but I don't know" and, "I want it but I really don't want it". It's all very confusing and my ability to make decisions is diminishing each day I go on like this...
It's making everything seem more and more impossible...
Most days, I'm mixing slightly more with the black than the white (and vice versa). These days aren't so bad- if you've been this state for as long as I have.
Then there's the days when I am the most perfectly balanced grey you could ever lay your eyes upon; there's almost beauty in my misfortune and depleting mental stability. Days like those- a day like this...
A day like this can demolish your spirit in milliseconds. A day like this can stop you from seeing the most vibrant autumn leaves strewn across the earth, as your eyes have now turned to grey. A day like this can let your demons burst out from hiding in the cavities of your mind and start gnawing at things they shouldn't. A day like this makes you not care that all of this is happening to you, just as long as you're still as dull as your cigarette's smoke.
Daylight 4U2C Jan 2014
From day to night
To day to night
I see the world in black and white.
there's good
or bad.
There's fight
or flight.
It's almost funny,
how my sight's not quite right.
Though, lonesome, it is,
I laugh in spite.
For years, I thought,
a rainbow could bite.
claire Jun 2017
you have entered the realm of life after separation.
gone are the daisies she tucked behind your ears. it’s autumn now.
you are getting older. your boots are heavy and your chest is heavier.
you were given something gleaming, but it isn’t yours,
anymore. you seethe in your own ache.
this is your first silver october. the blushing leaves have gone greyscale,
like an i love lucy rerun. they evoke a stab of grief between your lungs.
you have to rewrite the story of your life now,
go forward knowing that everything after will be somehow
lesser than her. no person will reach into you the way she did.
you are a lost girl. resignation is all you have left,
resignation and streets bitter with dead leaves, streets where you run and shout
a silent prayer of loss.

but then:
but then.

you are reciting a poem for a room of people and your words
belong to your body now. a deep glow has fallen over everything,
right onto a girl you’ve only seen once before.
front row. face open. taking in what you are saying,
your retrospective sorrow, with a particular kind of attentiveness
you have needed all along.
everyone is listening, but she is hearing you.
in that moment, when you are raw and earnest,
you think that perhaps there’s something different about
this one. how even when you are done, she still seems to be
hearing all the words you cannot say.

and then:
and then.

spring is thrusting its way out of cold dirt
and you are twisting and breathing and this girl,
this girl, she is one million ******* shades of red. all you can do is
look at her without turning away, as if you could do such a thing
even if you tried. maybe this is how rembrandt felt
when painting night watch.
full of thick, rich burning too immense for language to hold.
this girl, this girl in the midst of life after. this girl so good
she’s put meaning back into the messy coming of spring.

you have learned not to trust. not to believe.
to love with a window open, a hand on the door,
in case of incineration, ready to run.
but this girl, says your heart,
says the peachy light bleeding onto her lips and nose,
this girl is not like those who came before her.
you’ve been a stranger to yourself for so long, but this girl
is reintroducing the two of you, rubbing you raw with longing.
do you understand, you want to say to her,
how stunning you are.
standing there like that. in your sincerity and laughter, as it weren’t
breath snatching to witness. as if it were commonplace,
unexceptional. as if you weren’t the tenderest work of art.

do you.
Graff1980 Mar 2016
I leave them behind, staring straight ahead despite their pleas. The starry night beckons me. It promises to set me free, so I leave. Cries of anguish echo in the nether realms, part past part hell, where the darkness instills itself.
Nighttime brings terrible dreams, but daylight is where true nightmares come from. My boots disturb the grey cement kicking up clouds of dust. Smoke obscures the empty spaces where ****** faces once laid. Scarred flesh painted red with life’s fluid.  Blood oozes and drips down the now cooling skin, then flows forming a small red river with tiny tributaries. All this is captured in a greyscale distortion.
I missed the moments of violent percussions. The sounds of man-made thunder crashing and smashing everything in sight. I was only here for the aftermath. Still, that is enough. Dark blue body bags hold the terror of two twins decimated. Gaping wounds appear as if something had been chewing itself free from their stomachs. Normal skin rolls into mangled and exposed muscle then becomes bone. What a sick alchemy of flesh.
Their faces follow the same empty stare. They almost look alive. Eyes open in accusation, pointing in a parallel direction. I can feel the full force of their claims as they silently scream “Why.”
I cry, but my tears come just upon the edge of numbness.  Anger, and sorrow so extreme that my mind cannot handle it. I disappear, pretending that these are merely photos. I immerse myself in the delusion that this is a thing of the past. I am not here. They are not there. With a digital click, the camera becomes my emotional filter.
I stumble, a step away from losing what is left of my sanity, then cross the threshold in reverse, till I am outside. A small woman cradles something in her arms. It is a charcoal baby doll. Tears streaming the woman screams, holding that incinerated thing, but it’s just a doll. Black flakes fall, baby doll’s clothing turns to dust. I cough it in and out choking on the musk. I am grateful that it is just a broken doll.
I feel fear bringing me to edge of insanity. Her screaming seems strange. Her eyes look deranged. The doll’s legs have little calcium protrusions. Do burnt bones blacken? It’s just a doll. Scorched porcelain doesn’t look like skin, but it’s just a doll. Please let it be just a doll.
I pull myself from the situation. Detach what is left of my impartiality from my sanity. This is just a picture. This is just a job. Auto pilot takes over as I keep clicking photos, leaving any sense of self in the past.
fueledbysadness Jun 2017
All is well but then you walked
And swept in like a wind
Once uncluttered
Now messy-piled

Once a greyscale county
Now a lit-up scenery
Once a lit-up scenery
Now a greyscale memory

I loved this guy once
Blew everything in it's place
Walking in without effort
And left

—with ease.
Curtis Jun 2016
Some days are just black and white
Greyscale, monochrome
Just plain
Vanilla ice cream

Other days are vibrant and astounding
Kaleidoscopes viewed through kaleidoscopes
Completely original and new
Mint chocolate chip

And for me it seems
There's no in-between
Mint chocolate chip is my favorite ice cream <3
Jo Hummel Apr 2014
Can you imagine a life in black and white?
I wouldn't like to,
and greyscale never did expose the beautiful complexion
on which I planted fervent kisses
and meaningful whispers
hushed only with the lips of a soul
I can never seek to fathom.

And how would we see
the colors of our wounds?
The fangs of our demise
finding purchase in our skin
and draining all reds, blues, greens.

I think you bleed yellow,
and perhaps that is why you slit your velvet graces,
to find the happiness you know
is somewhere very
very
deep within.
Garrett Jun 2013
Sleeping in my own lap
Phantom Slender Passenger
Watching greyscale skys
Winding wet green solitude

Look to the mountains
Unattainable misted peaks
Climb onto the unseen face
Natures peak of privacy
Sleeping in my own lap
Phantom Slender Passenger
Watching a travellers slumber
Ghost strokes of matted hair

Materialize, take a seat
Take my hand, take a nap
Take some time, Take it all
Dream of nature's privacy

Slender Passenger sleeps in my lap
Slender Passenger sleeps in my lap
Slender Passenger sleeps in my lap
Slender Passenger sleeps in my lap
Travelling by bus today was really good creative stimulus

For Mads
Kyle Kulseth Jan 2014
Huddle
And shiver
And scowl
                turn away now
from snow-sunburnt faces
in cracked and frostbitten window panes
A chance taken lightly
won't wash away so easy
when the years mislaid thicken
and lips no longer speak freely

So I'll age, here, in silence
and dance with ghosts of better days
cross yellowing pages
stitch Bighorn peaks to the snowy plains

Your brown eyes were wet.
My greyscale soul had shattered.
While you left and forgot me,
I divorced from all that matters

Teeth grind
                                        ears dull
                       days fade out

Shuffle
And stumble
Sit down
             hunch away, now.
A strange face in red light
dissembles truths out of frosting frames
A proverb so simple,
"Not all is gold which glistens,"
Could have lived in the shimmer,
but I never listened.

So I'll dream, here, out westward
sleep next to bones of better days
let my drunken memories
trace bus routes back up to Winnipeg

Your brown eyes were wet
as roadway stitches unraveled
My blue eyes filled with question marks,
then they hardened up into gravel

I'm echoing footfalls on stairs
                  in the night
You're our spectral laughter in summer
                  bathed in cups of wine

                       Fade out.

Teeth grind. Ears dull. Days fade out.
Izzah Batrisyia Mar 2015
As you read the words,
I have written about,
The circles under my eyes,
The bruises on my skin,
Oh, all these stories,
Of my cold, little heart.

I wonder what image of me,
Shows up on the screen,
At the back of your mind,
In greyscale or in the filter fade,
As your lips mouth out,
The words that could never slip off mine.

I wonder if you think,
Of the words you have read,
Written from the tip of my pen,
Typed out from the keys of the alphabet,
Sung along to a four chord strum,
As you pause yourself from the occupied.

I wonder if my words,
Ever made you look back through the pages,
Of the books you have read,
And had you started on something new,
For people had words as skin,
And you needed quotes for tattoos.
#2
© 2015 Izzah Batrisyia
Yam Kaplan Jan 2014
I pledge allegiance
to the genuine warmth down my guts
and the shivering drops of your sweat
all over my oh so lucky existence.

Philotes won't have mercy
on my sore knees and my thirsty heart.
"Acquire patience, my beloved child"-
he'd say as my ***** would beg
for one more lie of yours.

Your radiance whisked me away,
pulled the carpet from under my feet
and left me wandering the greyscale
of placebo love,
lust overflow
and polite embraces.

I like to lay myself on your sheets
for I can't stand falling for you
each and very time
I get up and leave.

I've done my nails, sugar,
so I can write a love song
down your spine.
Austin Mosher Apr 2013
Rain is pouring
Duotone black and white.
Are there colors
Behind the greyscale sky?
A distant song
Rang from a blue cello
Is love hiding
‘neath the striped umbrella?
Lotte Jan 2014
Tick
Tock
Tick
Tick
Tick*

Clock watch
Tap your foot impatiently
Waiting for it to come
Counting the minutes
Bored of counting the minutes
Bored of waiting
Bored of boredom

Day dreaming of escaping the monotony
The masses of uniformed clones
Wearing what they're told to by the media
Doing what they're told to do by society
Too scared to question
Living to work
Doing the same day in, day out

The train pulls in the platform
A little late as expected
Packed as expected
Silent as expected
Dead eyes staring out
A glimmer of hope extinguished in each one
Dreams gone but surely not completely forgotten

Run, run, run as fast as you can
Run from your boredom
Run for your life
Run to save your life
Be the colour in a greyscale world
Make the most of every minute
Do things that make you happy
Work to live
Live
oakley Nov 2015
My life was stuck in greyscale
Until you came along
With beautiful watercolors.
You painted the skies
With amethyst and sapphire
With coral and azure.
You painted the autumn trees,
With amber and titian
With hazel and maroon.
You flooded the dark oceans
With turquoise and navy.
You sprinkled the grey mountains
With shimmers of flaxen sunlight.
My entire life exploded
Into an exquisite rainbow.

And then you left.
And the radiant world
You had painted for me
Slowly faded
Back into anaemic dust and gloom.
Willow Jan 2019
things around here have become somberly dull since you left. almost as if each day i wake i notice the colors around me are drained a bit more than the day before.

and despite me knowing that someday all hues shall return, when we once again collide like the supernovas we are...i can’t help but feel that for now life has lost all color.

W. Be
Culpoetry Nov 2013
Sitting, dull, fingers fixated
Shadow covers shimmering screen
All feelings subsided or degraded
Our choices made have their meanings faded
We are not following our shallow dreams
In the hollow, our greyscale souls scream

What is this phenomenon?
Soullessness in lack of love
Or enlightenment in lack of light?
Dissonance attracts to me
Pieces fall like grey floating dust
Darkness calls in on an autumn dusk

Boons beneath our silence
And silent thunder
What decadence lies, so deep
Beneath a white sky?
How do I repair myself from under?
And hear clear my love’s calling?
When my eyes have been torn asunder
I cannot bear to make myself die


I keep switching from ditch to ditch
No man’s land is lost without light
The mist forming atop my mind

No longer blind me from sight!
Not without my heart’s light
To put up a valiant fight
In the highest of harmony
I shall let my soul take flight…

— The End —