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Existent 9:29 p.m. 2004-10-25 In our loss of eloquence we are forfeit and all claims to an artistic outlook are damned and i am nothing but a stupid fucking boy with nothing to say. Maybe when you left you stole the words because lately everything that's commited is subject to your destructive prose. In tirades of cascading helplessness this disonance is a perfect portrait of a distorted face. Confidence is this mirror that you shattered with the slamming of the door. ANd why do i pine for you when i can't fathom the words your saying and the tones of your voice are suddenly so foreign. When i pick up the phone your voice on the other end is strange and i hate that you aren't the same person. Why can't i just forget and ignore someone that doesn't mean anything to me anymore. I guess i just loved the idea of loving you and i guess i'm just some kind of fool. Confine these ideas to a paper box and your descriptions of past sunsets are utterly useless. With the kiss of this winter chill caressing these unfeeling limbs i just wish you'd be waiting at the end of the road, someplace warm with a smile and conversation. To pass the night in silent connection and to pretend that nothing ever changes as the world is erect and destroyed around us. This steel and iron frame will never outlast the construct of our emotional depravity and in the quiet we will last forever; echoes of sameness. Feel the reverberations in the walls long after i've died, this disquiet is a spirit and will haunt you forever. And fuck you for thinking otherwise. All i wanted was for someone to say the same things and whisper revelation across the table and make me wonder and wander your mind as your eyes blossom with creation's wings. Can you give me a new idea to get me through another drought brought on by insomnia and creative insincerity. Maybe someday someone will want the same things and will misconstrue the words i love you and understand the uselessness of it all. My walls were naked when you left and the scars you burned were flowers. And in the midnight motivation i covered these scars with pretty things and tried to pretend you never existed. But still you persist and nothing was ever so hard before. And last night i decided to tell you all that you meant nothing and that maybe i'd die to all of you and just go back to the long days spent with pens and pages and bloody pictures keeping us alive with glimpses of beauty and a hope for tomorrow. WHen you are standing next to me do you feel the sense of sorrow that comes creeping from knowing you'll never be mine? SIlver rivers run down the boulevarde and the asphalt is birthing shadows, we'll never be alone not tonight. Never ever more will you decide who you thinkg you can be based on your insecurity and based on the hope that i had for a chance at true happiness. When you killed the chances you killed the boy and death was never so sweet as watching the shadow disappear as the asphalt crushed the dirt beneath your feet. back & forth |