(no subject)
I see the world through two giant holes
From a head that's far too large
For my not so feeble frame.
I lift up the lids and beneath them there are
paint splatters of white that devower all that can be seen
I see in giant blurs and choppy scenes,
one moment to the next, but nothing flows quite right anymore
not like a soothing river, but like an old machine
that's lost its pattern. there is no rythym in my
distantly quaint but all too innocent and inconsistant design
with time, what was once smooth and precise
begins to jerk and moan. and squeal with frustration.
I see as a machine and I grow tired with angry blood
With an achy fever and a shaking fist.
My fingers close tightly around the warmth of emptiness
BEAUTIFUL. the way it feels so priceless.
Like something real and tangible that I can almost touch.
But isn't that where the beauty lies?
That emptiness is warm and burns so bright
Assume that darkness is emptiness and yet, strange
That it's what keeps me up at night..
From a head that's far too large
For my not so feeble frame.
I lift up the lids and beneath them there are
paint splatters of white that devower all that can be seen
I see in giant blurs and choppy scenes,
one moment to the next, but nothing flows quite right anymore
not like a soothing river, but like an old machine
that's lost its pattern. there is no rythym in my
distantly quaint but all too innocent and inconsistant design
with time, what was once smooth and precise
begins to jerk and moan. and squeal with frustration.
I see as a machine and I grow tired with angry blood
With an achy fever and a shaking fist.
My fingers close tightly around the warmth of emptiness
BEAUTIFUL. the way it feels so priceless.
Like something real and tangible that I can almost touch.
But isn't that where the beauty lies?
That emptiness is warm and burns so bright
Assume that darkness is emptiness and yet, strange
That it's what keeps me up at night..