Late night wax.
[Im-]
What, with the wetness like these lies,
my sick and tired eyes strain to find you
so lost alone among the terrifying trees.
And like the sadness slipping down,
you’ve fallen through the opaqueness of this cloudy situation
into the arms of something strange and fantastic.
But the way I’ve felt to find
has been what’s lingering in my mind.
The way that nothing seems to make sense at all.
But each blade of your intent runs down my back like shivers of broken glass.
The shreds of all my dignity go blowing in a wind that’s driven not by jealousy,
but by the shame of what a broken man I have become.
Gone are the times when I felt like I realized all that surrounded me,
and here I’m left cemented in my steps, like bricks upon my slender figure rest,
and I’m giving up on giving up because it’s never worked before.
So what’s left is the straining of my arm,
reaching for something new, something more,
but all I’m finding is the knob to that broken creaky door
that I’ve always wondered and
never known what was behind it,
if anything at all.
Spurred on by this frantic heat, this racing of an intellectual steam.
Like jets of convalescence, I’ve found in you what I’ve feared in me;
a guilt that’s so pure and radiant that it shines brighter than the nicest days,
and it weighs me down with such perfection that I’m loathe to want for any other name,
but be myself resigned to this sinking wave of gratitude that I at least am left alive to feel.
[-promtu]
Again, free-writing. I didn't write it with those breaks, I just started chopping it up and found it had a bit of a flow. I'm not sure that I like it that way. Oh well. I need a new job.
What, with the wetness like these lies,
my sick and tired eyes strain to find you
so lost alone among the terrifying trees.
And like the sadness slipping down,
you’ve fallen through the opaqueness of this cloudy situation
into the arms of something strange and fantastic.
But the way I’ve felt to find
has been what’s lingering in my mind.
The way that nothing seems to make sense at all.
But each blade of your intent runs down my back like shivers of broken glass.
The shreds of all my dignity go blowing in a wind that’s driven not by jealousy,
but by the shame of what a broken man I have become.
Gone are the times when I felt like I realized all that surrounded me,
and here I’m left cemented in my steps, like bricks upon my slender figure rest,
and I’m giving up on giving up because it’s never worked before.
So what’s left is the straining of my arm,
reaching for something new, something more,
but all I’m finding is the knob to that broken creaky door
that I’ve always wondered and
never known what was behind it,
if anything at all.
Spurred on by this frantic heat, this racing of an intellectual steam.
Like jets of convalescence, I’ve found in you what I’ve feared in me;
a guilt that’s so pure and radiant that it shines brighter than the nicest days,
and it weighs me down with such perfection that I’m loathe to want for any other name,
but be myself resigned to this sinking wave of gratitude that I at least am left alive to feel.
[-promtu]
Again, free-writing. I didn't write it with those breaks, I just started chopping it up and found it had a bit of a flow. I'm not sure that I like it that way. Oh well. I need a new job.