//Gravity.
I feel a pull, and it suspends me in between the realities I can't face and the things I don't like. Like now, I'm between the me that hates the most tedious annoying tendencies of the people around me and the me that absolutely believes in the unimportance of the short comings of others instead of the greater faith and hope that they can be better than what they are. I lash out because I am tired of cleaning up their messes, and instead of having bigger consequences I tell them to let me do the work, but they get offended and storm out, and while I'm telling them that is the reason I have to clean up their messes they don't realize that their actions reflect the logic and sense I am trying to explain to them,so in a sense they are morons living in irony. I find myself being pulled yet again.
This time towards a different picture, of the sense in my gut that watches young people on the streets holding hands, and keeping secrets, of whispers on a cell phone or a text that makes a pretty girl laugh. They are everywhere these texting people, in cafe's and in a theater, the only place I feel like being amongst other human beings, but not so close, never close, I'm sensitive to everything while undergoing a vast vocabulary of words that are short in comprehending what my mind finds and feels about the world around me. If I had to choose "incongruent" would come close, at an opposite yet definitely close to society, but always at a distance and held by something superficial. I want to be in love, to feel those sparkling butterflies of romance, I've never been in love, not in real life. I've never touched love, and thinking back on all those times when I would have had it, I realized that I am a fool, and never reached out for it in the way it would have wanted. I tilt my head and feel it again, the pull. If I put my ear to the ground, will I hear my heart beating or the soil beneath the perfect tiles that make this house as cold as an arctic mountain side.
I made them go away the creatures from my dreams, never knowing when to catch me in a lie, the things are barely flying there inside my dream. I want to tell them to lead me to the island of misfit toys, but I'm a little bit afraid they'll catch me and cut out my heart, I fear to die. More than I'd like to admit it, I fear to lie still in a cell as grime and infestations of rodents pick at the soles of my being, to rot and have no taste of food, to become a shell of a person, my person, what person I would be if those prison bars were broken, I yield to my skin again, that stretching cage that really holds me, would I break away and bleed into the cosmos, would I still be flying? Would I become the sun as I've so often dreamt about? Would I fly into a starry dust and feel a smooth guitar vibrating as I pass near Saturn's rings, that foamy dust in circlets, it makes my heart pitter-patter, and I long for it again, that thing, Love.
I feel it pulling me, now more than ever, like an inch away from ripping off my skin, the bones would crack, and inside that place, the withered isle of a person I'd fall like a star into the ocean, crimson and serene, into the indigo waters of the Mediterranean like Icarus on a high of water feathers and wax hopes. I'd swim into the blue with him if he was afraid, I'd paint his smile on my face if I could, but happiness would bring us nothing, us the falling stars, we'd soon become a creator, or worse nothing. What could be worse than nothing? Becoming insignificant and shunned? I wonder now as the blue approaches, what new horizons we'll see, and where the ships below us go to? I close my eyes and think of you, my only love, whom I never had the pleasure to meet, I will wonder through the milky way, and think of you until the black hole sucks me in, I will think of you inside my shell, a heartless heat of mine. I wish I'd met you, I wish you'd held me when I was falling, I wish you live a happy life, but I wonder, will you know it if I died? Would you hear a sound only you could? Would you touch brunt? Would you smell limes and roses? Or would you continue smiling to the person who isn't me?
I wonder these things as I am pulled into the death of me, and I recount those words that so familiarly crawled under my skin.
"And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor.Shall be lifted never more."
This time towards a different picture, of the sense in my gut that watches young people on the streets holding hands, and keeping secrets, of whispers on a cell phone or a text that makes a pretty girl laugh. They are everywhere these texting people, in cafe's and in a theater, the only place I feel like being amongst other human beings, but not so close, never close, I'm sensitive to everything while undergoing a vast vocabulary of words that are short in comprehending what my mind finds and feels about the world around me. If I had to choose "incongruent" would come close, at an opposite yet definitely close to society, but always at a distance and held by something superficial. I want to be in love, to feel those sparkling butterflies of romance, I've never been in love, not in real life. I've never touched love, and thinking back on all those times when I would have had it, I realized that I am a fool, and never reached out for it in the way it would have wanted. I tilt my head and feel it again, the pull. If I put my ear to the ground, will I hear my heart beating or the soil beneath the perfect tiles that make this house as cold as an arctic mountain side.
I made them go away the creatures from my dreams, never knowing when to catch me in a lie, the things are barely flying there inside my dream. I want to tell them to lead me to the island of misfit toys, but I'm a little bit afraid they'll catch me and cut out my heart, I fear to die. More than I'd like to admit it, I fear to lie still in a cell as grime and infestations of rodents pick at the soles of my being, to rot and have no taste of food, to become a shell of a person, my person, what person I would be if those prison bars were broken, I yield to my skin again, that stretching cage that really holds me, would I break away and bleed into the cosmos, would I still be flying? Would I become the sun as I've so often dreamt about? Would I fly into a starry dust and feel a smooth guitar vibrating as I pass near Saturn's rings, that foamy dust in circlets, it makes my heart pitter-patter, and I long for it again, that thing, Love.
I feel it pulling me, now more than ever, like an inch away from ripping off my skin, the bones would crack, and inside that place, the withered isle of a person I'd fall like a star into the ocean, crimson and serene, into the indigo waters of the Mediterranean like Icarus on a high of water feathers and wax hopes. I'd swim into the blue with him if he was afraid, I'd paint his smile on my face if I could, but happiness would bring us nothing, us the falling stars, we'd soon become a creator, or worse nothing. What could be worse than nothing? Becoming insignificant and shunned? I wonder now as the blue approaches, what new horizons we'll see, and where the ships below us go to? I close my eyes and think of you, my only love, whom I never had the pleasure to meet, I will wonder through the milky way, and think of you until the black hole sucks me in, I will think of you inside my shell, a heartless heat of mine. I wish I'd met you, I wish you'd held me when I was falling, I wish you live a happy life, but I wonder, will you know it if I died? Would you hear a sound only you could? Would you touch brunt? Would you smell limes and roses? Or would you continue smiling to the person who isn't me?
I wonder these things as I am pulled into the death of me, and I recount those words that so familiarly crawled under my skin.
"And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor.Shall be lifted never more."