How can there be so much pain
in one person's heart??
How can there be so much fear,
the constant anxiety to be removed
from this world
Even though all you seek is deliverence,
escape from this blood bathed heaven,
you still fear giving this all up.
Fearing that you were never really
good enough to live up to your dreams.
That you fear constantly that some measure
of evolution
will knock you out of the scheme of things,
like an off note tune,
like an untimely beat.
You're just simply removed
and forgotten
like the insane number of species of life
that have once been part of this world.
Even for me to be created, something else
had to go.
There had to be a void that was created
for me to fill
my destiny was pre-decided.
the way pre-built..
nothing that I have in my heart was matching the
patterns my feet were making as I walked down
this way that was for not very long empty.
where I began there was still a little warmth
in the footprints that I began on and
now the foot prints that I leave are replaced by cold
and swishing water
that wipes the sand clean
its with every step that I'm dying
out in the series of thoughts that for a few hours
give me a gothic release that is dark ink that
eats and decays into the paper.
It must pain the paper to be scratched upon.
It is the degree of misery that a placid life
in the fields seeks in the fast life of the city
and the claustraphobic choking eyes that seek
the sands and the water that swallows up footsteps.
I guess I was just in the line of things that existed
that maybe my line was something that is steadily going instinct.
Listening to some sort of wall that creates a barrier for my tears to flow inside me
To reveal a new path down my face.
Its the vacant empty hunger that I beleive not even time can replace.
Because it is vacant empty hunger that of which
the depth I cannot calculate...
No measure to estimate,
How do you measure the depth of which most of it is
virtual?
How do I sever this line of fate and for once
move to a stage of self-preservation that does not include
self-hate?
Where do you learn to draw the line when what you did is reflecting on what you are
and You are just a shadow of what you Did?
I am dusty and hazy and vague as the mist that gathers upon the months of winter mornings that I walk
as a task that I have to complete to just continue my need to continue the steps
and all the happiness is the crude sense of existance
not that this existance makes sense
because I like to complicate things.
Easy things confuse me.
Simple things stupify me
and 'tis just the easy way that you got luck'
is just too good to be true to be relieved.
Cant deny this need to say that
My existance is short lived
and I am denied of pleasure even in the crudest sense.
The pain that I cannot speak of is revealed in the
fantsy of my 'here's to a happy ending'
keeps my steps going.
slow. Weakning from within
my body turns to a mist that's containted by the 5 layers of flesh that hide the air.
The smile plastered on my face is because it takes time to turn this mist to water
and the silent night,
alone in bed,
that's all that's left of my life.
A stain on the sheets, a dark wet, cold and non-living
Puddle of water.