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You will be... 12:56 a.m. 2005-06-02 and you were.... spilling confessions on the lawn in glittering traces of midnight with filtered rays of hope and immaculate failure beaming through. A bleary sunset as you cave in. Your descriptions stutter across pages in a prose confined to imitation and deceptive repetition of phrase and emotional content. I am writing a million songs about the same things with nothing new to say. So save us from the cycle. Can you blend words to create technicolor dreams and an abrasive sense of nostalgia drifting across the minds eye? I will paint you a picture woven from heartache and whimsy and stitched together with a thread of hope interlaced with desperation and a tendency to give in. I will tell you the story of our lives past and future with a trace of irony and the saddest eyes. This is giving up. You were laying on your bed with eyes wide open and wondering will these fragments open wide and will this catastrophe birth inspiration? Can't you be content with the manner in which your words collapse on the page like cataracts and the exhaustion of hope? "who brought me here?" These are the conceptions and imaginiative planescapes projected across concrete walls fixtating on rememberance and illusion. You are... back & forth |