(no subject)
all the beautiful things we feel like we need in life seem to be dancing just on the tips of outstretched fingertips. a twisting taunting farce of reality mocking our choice to let go of something real, because we are convinced that we could have a better chance of catching our fleeting prayers.
i do this because
i want a time when things will....
seem less useless.
when our fathers could be worth more,
and our mothers didn't have to be whores.
when the bad times should inspire us to persevere,
and our characters can afford to be tested.
maybe tomorrow wont be so bad,
maybe things will get better,
but we weren't really taught to look for the good.
No one told us it would be like this
and would it really matter if they did?
would it change the fact that we find only irony, coincidence and excuses running rampant like a plague throughout our lives? The infections of our illusions whispering promises and other such lies in our ears. The irony is that these promises and lies keep us going, they sustain us and bind us, but I hate the idea of being fueled on utterances of vague covenants, and false sincerities murmured in shame. I hate even more that I would never be able to tell the difference in the first place, dismissing the truth as a lie, and accepting the mistake as if it were the flawless.
i do this because
i want a time when things will....
seem less useless.
when our fathers could be worth more,
and our mothers didn't have to be whores.
when the bad times should inspire us to persevere,
and our characters can afford to be tested.
maybe tomorrow wont be so bad,
maybe things will get better,
but we weren't really taught to look for the good.
No one told us it would be like this
and would it really matter if they did?
would it change the fact that we find only irony, coincidence and excuses running rampant like a plague throughout our lives? The infections of our illusions whispering promises and other such lies in our ears. The irony is that these promises and lies keep us going, they sustain us and bind us, but I hate the idea of being fueled on utterances of vague covenants, and false sincerities murmured in shame. I hate even more that I would never be able to tell the difference in the first place, dismissing the truth as a lie, and accepting the mistake as if it were the flawless.