Free write at the end of time
Now like the snake cast off your skin of evil thoughts and wicked sin
and there’s no reason to let go of anything but there’s all the love in the world holding on to all of this
I close up the doors and turn out the lights and judgment has no home no place thank you, thank you for your contributions
but we stood somewhere inside of a million years of solitude your face was the light swimming in the tunnel as I crawled and cried and looked into the deepest well and throw down my wishes and listen to them strike and hit upon the rock and pray for wishing well
and this is the sound of dreams deferred
and how long will you wait
and you can’t deny humanity’s desire and words fail me and silence reigns and in the iconic ironic dispute land
where beauty folds in on a countertop next to a wife’s beaten hands holding a beaten heart and the heart sings in a bloody puddle with a thin black voice
and tenderness is everything, tenderness trembles and laughter crackles and brown skin screams and black eyes flash
and there is no such thing as civilization and there’s beauty in the crumbling concrete
and what do you believe and how will you be silence and where will you pour your softness to set into legends of kindness
that won’t be true in that glaring smile that blinding laugh
cast this all off, hate gets you no where, you know, you know it’s a silly self-indulgence
and you must turn out the lights and open the window and let the cold stream in and out.
You make grand and colorful plans and watch them fall flat again and again, clean out the cavities in your life and wear out the weakness until it falls away to leave the strength below.
There’s something about being alone that I crave, to heart my heart falling in the darkness, to see the light growing in the silence, to let go and watch everything unravel at my feet.
Fame quickly becomes too much. You have to imagine the pressure, pressure building and heavy and someone needs to help him carry the weight, or mybe just help him escape it.
You have to get the hunger. Fame eats you.
Silence encases the whirling planet and we ran up flight after flight of stairs, gasping,
a spear stabbing you repeatedly in the side until on your knees you fell out onto the roof where the wind was making the city sway
and a lone man out there was beginning to feel like Atlas,
and the end must be better then all promises of the middle.
You hate being the same, hate every semblance of similarity.
Everybody wants to be completely and utterly unique because if you were not than there would be no point to you living, and you might as well just die, hadn’t you? I think you’d better had.
Had had hal hat spaceship training launch for Carolina I’m going somewhere wild like mexico in my mind.
I’m flying thousands of miles to be alone at the end of the world.
You don’t have to legitimize your life. You don’t. you don’t. you don’t have to explain yourself. You don’t. you don’t. intuition is enough. You do it because it’s right. Let go of reason. No explanations. The artist does not explain, she does. She does, and she grows old. I have a wart on my knows and ten thousand years of knowledge in my head and a cat with a million years of knowledge on my shoulder. I will stir
and there’s no reason to let go of anything but there’s all the love in the world holding on to all of this
I close up the doors and turn out the lights and judgment has no home no place thank you, thank you for your contributions
but we stood somewhere inside of a million years of solitude your face was the light swimming in the tunnel as I crawled and cried and looked into the deepest well and throw down my wishes and listen to them strike and hit upon the rock and pray for wishing well
and this is the sound of dreams deferred
and how long will you wait
and you can’t deny humanity’s desire and words fail me and silence reigns and in the iconic ironic dispute land
where beauty folds in on a countertop next to a wife’s beaten hands holding a beaten heart and the heart sings in a bloody puddle with a thin black voice
and tenderness is everything, tenderness trembles and laughter crackles and brown skin screams and black eyes flash
and there is no such thing as civilization and there’s beauty in the crumbling concrete
and what do you believe and how will you be silence and where will you pour your softness to set into legends of kindness
that won’t be true in that glaring smile that blinding laugh
cast this all off, hate gets you no where, you know, you know it’s a silly self-indulgence
and you must turn out the lights and open the window and let the cold stream in and out.
You make grand and colorful plans and watch them fall flat again and again, clean out the cavities in your life and wear out the weakness until it falls away to leave the strength below.
There’s something about being alone that I crave, to heart my heart falling in the darkness, to see the light growing in the silence, to let go and watch everything unravel at my feet.
Fame quickly becomes too much. You have to imagine the pressure, pressure building and heavy and someone needs to help him carry the weight, or mybe just help him escape it.
You have to get the hunger. Fame eats you.
Silence encases the whirling planet and we ran up flight after flight of stairs, gasping,
a spear stabbing you repeatedly in the side until on your knees you fell out onto the roof where the wind was making the city sway
and a lone man out there was beginning to feel like Atlas,
and the end must be better then all promises of the middle.
You hate being the same, hate every semblance of similarity.
Everybody wants to be completely and utterly unique because if you were not than there would be no point to you living, and you might as well just die, hadn’t you? I think you’d better had.
Had had hal hat spaceship training launch for Carolina I’m going somewhere wild like mexico in my mind.
I’m flying thousands of miles to be alone at the end of the world.
You don’t have to legitimize your life. You don’t. you don’t. you don’t have to explain yourself. You don’t. you don’t. intuition is enough. You do it because it’s right. Let go of reason. No explanations. The artist does not explain, she does. She does, and she grows old. I have a wart on my knows and ten thousand years of knowledge in my head and a cat with a million years of knowledge on my shoulder. I will stir