We follow...
the course between loving and living and lying and trying has become a vague matter of descriptive error. I am in conscious flow of some radiating power that kills the lungs and blackens the heart from horror and dust-filled eyes. My mediation of medication is long gone and the worn hands no longer need the gloves. I am gone to those that never induced. I am invisible inside this mind of days filling themselves with countless errors and pointless smiles. I am in constance.
I am constant.
I am the variable of dreams.
I am the devisible range of destruction.
I am the frayed seams and open days of daze.
I am sorry. to become.
The witness of decadent halls.
And plastic frames.
The enrichment of my mind is not the legalization of trustworthy stares. My infatuation is no longer here to stay. It is no longer here for the recreational use of wasted years and countless needles to the neck. We induce the coma. And I rise to follow.
In some instances, I wish this never was. I wish I never made it out. I wish the theoretic plain found its way into stopping my heart. The bruises are confiscated and forgotten. The lungs are finally inflated. I am no more without the lips of the sacred. I am no longer in terror of dieing.
But instead,
in the fear of living.
Of what broken hearts can do.
Of what the holy mess can create.
Of what the shards open at point blank range.
Of what bullets may never accomplish.
Give me the world of darkness again.
Give me the cure of the cancerous hands.
Give me the vial of inducing the destruction.
Give me what I don't need.
What I don't want.
What I need to live without sanctions.
Or factions.
Or walls. or love.
We are the establishment of reestablishing.
What was.
And no longer is.
In accordance to sound.
And unfair tags of tame reign.
Let the ruler rule.
And the educated eradicate.
The mind of mine.
From the way of ways.
Without recollection.
Is my only escape.
I am constant.
I am the variable of dreams.
I am the devisible range of destruction.
I am the frayed seams and open days of daze.
I am sorry. to become.
The witness of decadent halls.
And plastic frames.
The enrichment of my mind is not the legalization of trustworthy stares. My infatuation is no longer here to stay. It is no longer here for the recreational use of wasted years and countless needles to the neck. We induce the coma. And I rise to follow.
In some instances, I wish this never was. I wish I never made it out. I wish the theoretic plain found its way into stopping my heart. The bruises are confiscated and forgotten. The lungs are finally inflated. I am no more without the lips of the sacred. I am no longer in terror of dieing.
But instead,
in the fear of living.
Of what broken hearts can do.
Of what the holy mess can create.
Of what the shards open at point blank range.
Of what bullets may never accomplish.
Give me the world of darkness again.
Give me the cure of the cancerous hands.
Give me the vial of inducing the destruction.
Give me what I don't need.
What I don't want.
What I need to live without sanctions.
Or factions.
Or walls. or love.
We are the establishment of reestablishing.
What was.
And no longer is.
In accordance to sound.
And unfair tags of tame reign.
Let the ruler rule.
And the educated eradicate.
The mind of mine.
From the way of ways.
Without recollection.
Is my only escape.