warmth that freezes, light of darkness... the absolute "how to put it ?"
|Buzz, buzz, buzz.
And that's no buzzing bee
I want from thee...
Such a disappointment,
I never asked to want something to write.
Yet that craving, this buzzing urge from witin me torments my never ending life.
I live ; an immortal as it would seem from the inside. But clarity is absent today.
Let the all seing torchlight app shine an evanescent enlightment upon this time.
Fading it would seem is the will to leave. Shy and yet yearning to shine, lying in the darkness of my truthful lights,
wich burst like all the spots I so dislike. Teachings are vain, spread with vehemence by my foolish passion.
If you're driven enough by that which is still, faith will be starting to move the mountains of your disillusions.
I want to feel, i want to scream, and the flacidness of my heart is only match by the laziness of my dreams.
what a waste..
Locked myself in a dark tiny room,
a warm wet poking hole full of warm wet poking tubes.
One of them is labelled "self". I cannot seem to see through it.
It mirrors the content of the others. One of them is labelled "DREAMS", an other "DESIRES".
they look different, filled with the same tiny poking tubes
inside of which are more poking tubes,
all filled with different things, all labelled "wrth" .
the " r " is moving. Sometimes an A is crushed by it.
sometimes it bounces on an O.
There's a lock on the door.
the key is on the floor,
guarded by spiders.
I live my life pretending they're not here,
avoiding to see the key that eyes constantly watch.
The spiders are scared by the sound
of the words engraved on the key,
they covered it with their webs
the words are hidden,
but everyone knows them ;
If the spiders were invisible,
I could overcome my phobias
and tear the web apart,
and i could read the words
and I could make them go...
if I didn't have to watch them crawl away.
But i spent near half an hour in the room.
The torchlight will not last more than an hour
Before it flickers away, like everybody's.
Then the spiders and the poking tubes
Are alone deciding my fate.
Then none will ever hear my lights or watch the sound of my ramblings,
I will not taste the sweet perfume, the cold fragrance of the ridiculous train ride that everyone rides.
Words are just noises screamed by faulty machines.
Words are just scars left by blind enemies trying to be defeated.
Words are just mud drops dropped by soiled pipes.
Words are nothing but excuses to waste an already spent time.
If no one screams, it is only to prevent spiders from entering their mouths.