All your tear stained letters didn't mean that much.
Say.
Truncated. I need to show them how it is that I live with myself everyday. I'm sorry that I'm a liar, but it's a vital part of being an artist--otherwise they never listen, otherwise they never wake up.
When they shot you did you see visions of me? Did we meet? Because I keep looking in the mirror and swearing that we have, that somewhere I have seen you--that we embraced and that you called me son once removed.
Undressing her with my stolen crown, but I stole it good and there ain't no shame in that.
Truth told.
Loaded. Plentiful abrasions to disprove all the elements that broke his fall.
Chase nothing. No conundrums, no violence, only panic.
He's the trailer king.
I can't stop seeing and no I'm not sorry.
Give me my little pills and a blank sheet of soul.
Fate.
Amass.
I'm bleeding and they're still not listening. I tried to make it my own and they're still not listening. Hold out your prayers and muffle the cries. It's going to be loud and all we can do is run.
posted by darl @ 5:56 PM
3 Comments:
That was touching. beautiful.
I often wonder if those who went on before see those who were left behind that they had not yet met. Do they visit us? Do they know who we are or are they even aware of us at all? I'm curious to find out the answers when I leave this place.
I think about that alot, hehe(( I guess time will tell. . . morbid as it might be to think about it that way . . . but true methinks
I don't think it's too morbid. It's a part of life, the cycle. Just movin' on to the true home. At least that's how I look at it. :-)
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