Take a little walk to the edge of town
Go across the tracks
Where the viaduct looms,
like a bird of doom
As it shifts and cracks
Where secrets lie in the border fires,
in the humming wires
Hey man, you know
you're never coming back
Past the square, past the bridge,
past the mills, past the stacks
On a gathering storm comes
a tall handsome man
In a dusty black coat with
a red right hand
Given the chance I would just go....
To live in the horror world. Maybe we all can. Hear the beats, relive the darkness. To feel the words pummel me with harsh realizations, to be stripped of emotion and conscience. No, that already exists, though deep down.
The world hurts. Everybosy hurts me. How cares? I don't. I'm sick of thinking and pindering whether it's going to anytime, cause in the end we don't have the right guts to really end it. We want to, but can't, how unreal and sad.
If you realise, the world hates everyone. No, everyone hates everyone. Its a competion, it's a race. For survival. You'll hack and slash anyone that stands in your way just to get what you want. Some come out winners while others lose, and get buried alive in the ever desperate struggle. How sad?
Again.....
Who cares?
I don't.
Why even bother?
No one's going to look back at you twice. Help some? No, they step on your head and they keep moving. Without you.
I'd ask the devil why he's so nice when others aren't. To sleep awake and have an unearthly conversation with men who don't have faces, whose voices pierce the impenetratable shadows telling you it's only a dream when it's actually real and you dont want it to end.
How eager this madness.
And then sleep with her, that woman of undying lust, to feel her pulse pound rapidly beneath my touch, her eyes sometimes shut, and then wide open in pain and pleasure. Tearing her skin apart with the slightest kiss, hearing her graon when she should be screaming, feeling the blood rush to the surface with it's warmth, then cooling , then burning as it flows down to where it stays, right where it belongs. She rips my skin, i feel the slight breeze of air as it seeps gently into my system, do you think this will ever stop?
She says : "No...take me."
There's no stopping the lust and passion, it's the exchange of our slithery life ebbing away with each devious kiss that takes us beyond all deception. I feel her for who she is, she always asks for more, yet her body begs for me to stop.
I'll take your life with me and learn to be ignorant of emotion.
Because the blood is life, and that's all I live for.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Do You Miss Me Tonight?
On the recent occasion, I heard so much. It triggered memories. It reminded me of the past how I, no, how we all tried our very best to evade, run from it. I won't be the only one to hide from them.
How much more painful can it get? No matter how much you try, it always comes back, and suprisingly, you'll see yourself in other people. How they tried to be who I was before, how they try to convince you they've seen it and done it before. Why? It's me, not you.
How much do you want to say about me to make me regret the things that were done, how much do you want to remind me that all of this that goes on without pause hurts so deep down, each and every passing day is filled with sadness and remorse.
Do I need you to tell me it burns? To remember all of them and have their wounds bleed yet again?
How could you? How can your inhumane mind, your insensitivity decide to hurt me so much? You have become another of the tons who have reminded me over and over. Each person I meet reminds me of everything, how sad it feels to not be able to carry on with a proper life for real.
She still stays fresh in my mind everyday. I can't run from you. I don't even want to. But I just want to run from the thought it could happen again, though I just want to be there again.
I want you back, but you can never be had till all this is over.
How much more painful can it get? No matter how much you try, it always comes back, and suprisingly, you'll see yourself in other people. How they tried to be who I was before, how they try to convince you they've seen it and done it before. Why? It's me, not you.
How much do you want to say about me to make me regret the things that were done, how much do you want to remind me that all of this that goes on without pause hurts so deep down, each and every passing day is filled with sadness and remorse.
Do I need you to tell me it burns? To remember all of them and have their wounds bleed yet again?
How could you? How can your inhumane mind, your insensitivity decide to hurt me so much? You have become another of the tons who have reminded me over and over. Each person I meet reminds me of everything, how sad it feels to not be able to carry on with a proper life for real.
She still stays fresh in my mind everyday. I can't run from you. I don't even want to. But I just want to run from the thought it could happen again, though I just want to be there again.
I want you back, but you can never be had till all this is over.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Soon I'll Be Blessing You
The earth, the water, the hopelessness, the prayers.
God in it's self centered environment, he or she would never care about you or me. You'll walk the streets thinking about the past, present, and your inevitable future of the purest form, forming in your mind the horror of the desperate world enveloping all that surrounds you with it's dark, immense embrace of forlorn jealousy. Realsm of emotion, open portals of ghosts, ghosts of the living memory, they will always live in your brightest most holy dreams of salvation and heaven. No heaven or angel will ever, never ever save you from the sorrow that has bestowed on you by who but all that cursed you over and over. I wish I could be with you without wishing you could be with me, knowing that wishing you with me would never be a wish I would ever want to wish that you would want to be with me wishing you were with me wishing. I tear through your deepest wounds hurting you the way you hurt me, darling, sweet love of eternal death. I prayed that we would go on and on, forgetting how the world really wove it's way around us, seperating you and me from each other's reality. I played the part so well, hearing it replayed ack to me never sounded better.
I cred the last tear for the most beautiful person. Now I long to be ever in your arms, feeling the cold touch of your skin on mine, the dead death of slow, painful consequence of judgemental sin.
Soon, always, be here.
God in it's self centered environment, he or she would never care about you or me. You'll walk the streets thinking about the past, present, and your inevitable future of the purest form, forming in your mind the horror of the desperate world enveloping all that surrounds you with it's dark, immense embrace of forlorn jealousy. Realsm of emotion, open portals of ghosts, ghosts of the living memory, they will always live in your brightest most holy dreams of salvation and heaven. No heaven or angel will ever, never ever save you from the sorrow that has bestowed on you by who but all that cursed you over and over. I wish I could be with you without wishing you could be with me, knowing that wishing you with me would never be a wish I would ever want to wish that you would want to be with me wishing you were with me wishing. I tear through your deepest wounds hurting you the way you hurt me, darling, sweet love of eternal death. I prayed that we would go on and on, forgetting how the world really wove it's way around us, seperating you and me from each other's reality. I played the part so well, hearing it replayed ack to me never sounded better.
I cred the last tear for the most beautiful person. Now I long to be ever in your arms, feeling the cold touch of your skin on mine, the dead death of slow, painful consequence of judgemental sin.
Soon, always, be here.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Entitlement
Sometimes I wish they were around, I wish she was around.
I wish I had them all back with me when times are hardest, when all around me seems bleak and somewhat strange. How do others communicate? Through language, through small talk, through experience and through relations of all kinds.
How do we communicate?
Through being who we are. Not everyone can be us, but the few that I once knew were just the way I was, the way it was supposed to be. Yes, there are the sporadic few who are extremely different, far apart from us and our natural behaviour, and yes, we shun the very sight and and literally, sounds of them.
How?
We are what we are, we feel what we feel, we feel each other, we know why it hurts everyone now and then at the most painful parts. Who else but us can comfort each other, support one another? You understand why then, it's hard for me function in the every day life, feeling the loss of close friends who understood your every emotion, who took it to heart and tried their best to make you feel you once again.
No, I can't write. I can't type. I can't express yself. I don't have you no more. That part of me is gone, what you see is a tiny fragment, a memory of what I was, never to be again...
I wish I had them all back with me when times are hardest, when all around me seems bleak and somewhat strange. How do others communicate? Through language, through small talk, through experience and through relations of all kinds.
How do we communicate?
Through being who we are. Not everyone can be us, but the few that I once knew were just the way I was, the way it was supposed to be. Yes, there are the sporadic few who are extremely different, far apart from us and our natural behaviour, and yes, we shun the very sight and and literally, sounds of them.
How?
We are what we are, we feel what we feel, we feel each other, we know why it hurts everyone now and then at the most painful parts. Who else but us can comfort each other, support one another? You understand why then, it's hard for me function in the every day life, feeling the loss of close friends who understood your every emotion, who took it to heart and tried their best to make you feel you once again.
No, I can't write. I can't type. I can't express yself. I don't have you no more. That part of me is gone, what you see is a tiny fragment, a memory of what I was, never to be again...
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