toll Love A new day. A new vision of beauty, flowing through whatever is left of my life; intriguing me toward intro-spection and gloom a bitter pill, these last ten years. Full of loss, consumption and tears. Also, full of new hope and maybe this time its real... hard to become an unbroken circle by the time your time comes...hard with no ten-foot walls to help lessen the brunt of this blunt-force trauma to my tattooed soul, negating all my colors, sucking into only one, flesh. i open my eyes again, which takes its toll each time... i remember when life wasnt strangled by my callous hand and dead with my careless appetite... no mistake ever meant so much. i couldnt see through all my this is me, this is you... enough to take a second look at how cold i had become. Enough to ignore whoever was on the other side of me at the time: a field in need of tending and loving care. I was poison to the grass. A barren patch where no life could ever possibly bound. The true meaning of my own demise, because i have been reborn... i once was lost, but now im found Once i finally started listening to what they were screaming, i realized quickly that it was me. On my pedestal i couldnt see. Recovering from a love affair with a pin. Rebounding from a wound in the shape of a ring... Responding to unfinished words, spoken through the fabric connecting the realms...Refurbishing the helm. head in pieces like a thousand bit puzzle, with no picture to guide its completion...scattered on the floor. find the corners first, it starts as a frame. Take a step back and consider it again... ponder its borders and color it with your pen-ultimate second stab...[ does this make two or three...im not even sure...] Ive lost track of the order, but i do know that ruins can be rebuilt. More than ever, i am in complete control of nothing. But, no city was ever built without clearing away the clutter re-filling the space with new, different monuments to industry and the will to be. incoherent babble between my hemispheres, reminds me of us and our constant need to be alone with ourselves. yet, separate we were meant to wander; starving for a taste of finis finally...matching the drapes and wallpaper; sickly, putrid yellow-green streams of fresh bile, running out the gaping wound of reason... Northern lights erupting in shards of broken bone and flowing stew, arching in a rainbow over you, as your face dissolves into Munchs scream ...and Mr. Mossberg falls indifferently to the floor.....
Posted on: Wed, 26 Mar 2014 03:24:15 +0000
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