Like It Was Back Then
Listening to Soundgarden makes me emotional in ways I can't quite explain. It reminds me so much of a time when I cared about so many different things but me wasn't really one of them. For a lot of years I never took care of myself. Not in the typical ways you might think, but something really deeper than surface. Ways I have a hard time explaining now. The feelings come back in colors and flashes but rarely with words.
With eyes of blood and bitter blue, how I feel for you.
There are shapes too. Not shapes like you'd draw on paper but sets of thoughts and geometry of moods. It's funny how sexy self destruction can be; a near fatal attraction to those who allow it. The color is low and orange. The shape is also low, wide, long. It moves at a speed unlike it's surroundings, blinding away so quickly but still and dormant in time. Tighter and Tighter is this beautiful, horrific, impending fall. My ears make the little hairs on the back of my neck perk at the sound every time. There's always that street, that echo, that calm after the storm in that place. You'd think the years would grant one orange iota of perspective but the days still seem lacking in abundance.
Tight and deep, one last sin before I'm dead, a sucking holy wind, will take me from this bed tonight.
But no, everyday is different if you let it. The colors will shift like the seasons, if you allow them. A scary thought though, because the credence given to that image, those shapes, those colors makes them powerful. Determined but not admittedly scared shitless is some kind of shape that dominates now. Lower, wider, faster now. Harder to catch, stronger it's grasp, sexier it becomes now. Like an electrical current that's just low enough to grab and electrocute you instead of knock you away.
Hold the potion up, stare your shadow down, remember to forget and then rename, your shame.
It's a simple dichotomy of shapes now, life or death. You will survive this or you will die. But just when you think you have a choice, you are so dumbfoundedly proven wrong. So wrong, you miserable fool. The blood stained lips crack a smirk and the colors change and the shapes part ways, lifting, striving.
There must be something else, there must be something good, far away, far away from here.
Yeah that's right, you're not dead yet. So quench yourself and drink the water that flows below her head... out in the sunshine. Sun is mine, sun is mine.
With eyes of blood and bitter blue, how I feel for you.
There are shapes too. Not shapes like you'd draw on paper but sets of thoughts and geometry of moods. It's funny how sexy self destruction can be; a near fatal attraction to those who allow it. The color is low and orange. The shape is also low, wide, long. It moves at a speed unlike it's surroundings, blinding away so quickly but still and dormant in time. Tighter and Tighter is this beautiful, horrific, impending fall. My ears make the little hairs on the back of my neck perk at the sound every time. There's always that street, that echo, that calm after the storm in that place. You'd think the years would grant one orange iota of perspective but the days still seem lacking in abundance.
Tight and deep, one last sin before I'm dead, a sucking holy wind, will take me from this bed tonight.
But no, everyday is different if you let it. The colors will shift like the seasons, if you allow them. A scary thought though, because the credence given to that image, those shapes, those colors makes them powerful. Determined but not admittedly scared shitless is some kind of shape that dominates now. Lower, wider, faster now. Harder to catch, stronger it's grasp, sexier it becomes now. Like an electrical current that's just low enough to grab and electrocute you instead of knock you away.
Hold the potion up, stare your shadow down, remember to forget and then rename, your shame.
It's a simple dichotomy of shapes now, life or death. You will survive this or you will die. But just when you think you have a choice, you are so dumbfoundedly proven wrong. So wrong, you miserable fool. The blood stained lips crack a smirk and the colors change and the shapes part ways, lifting, striving.
There must be something else, there must be something good, far away, far away from here.
Yeah that's right, you're not dead yet. So quench yourself and drink the water that flows below her head... out in the sunshine. Sun is mine, sun is mine.