Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Lily, my Irish pop tart. Hope you get better hon.
5:57 AM
Unwritten
Oh baby.
Your tenderfoot soul, my gossamer dream. Shredded in the engines of my ambition. In love's bitter mystery.
And then you're lost. A bygone memory, faded by the wash of time.
Now as I wander through shelter-less days, I'm still not entirely sure of what exactly went wrong. The idea of us seems so impractical now. Did you really happen to me, or was it yet another convoluted trick my restless mind sprung on me to while away hours on end.
And I know how I make you over discuss everything - struggling to fix us with desperate fluffs and pats a restless sleeper gives his pillow, flipping it over for the brief soothing cool side - before it goes flat and tepid again. Desperation tinged words. Just to hear your voice, to repeat those words I crave.
The phrase "Suicide / Success" floods my skull in celestial chorus, the latest addition from my inner voice, and the one who's pith I still admire.
Suicide / Success
Okay. Deep breath honey. Things could always be worse right? Think cortical aneurysm or even Prison gang sodomy. Although right now the entire concept of gratitude feels largely academic and under appreciated.
Well anyways before i go on in this saracasm tinged spiel I'm off to get some sleep, so hopelfully I can wrench myself out of this terribly black mood that I've somehow got myself into.
***
Chill.
5:00 AM
Reflection.
As you can see I haven't exactly turned out the way I hoped. Or the way anybody else did for the matter. That's an understatement, really. And I'll be the first to admit it. I've managed to get out of telling you a lot of the basic stuff, the important things, by huddling inside all of my pretty, hollow Easter egg words.
I guess I've learnt to live in them. But reality the dogged door-to-door sales man has come knocking again and he's not going away anytime soon. So I know I am escaping myself when I keep referencing my life against the big screen. My life, the soap opera. I felt cozy in this little world I made for myself, in my mind.
Yet I hunger for the hues the rain has washed from that little world. I'd slip into cinema’s velvet shelter communing to the blue confusion of Jonathon Rhys Meyer’s eyes (what can I say, he is a hunk). There I could dream in the silken fog of never-never in my lonely only childhood suspended and fed by umbilical images.
But I don't dream in color anymore.
***
Who is that girl i see?
Monday, July 03, 2006
Sleepy eyes
Sleep drags on eyelids
Continue to grasp at straws
Innocence will be rid
Yet we believe in folklores
Promise of a fairy tale
Warped in hopeless eyes
For every hope to fail
Give into the wicked web of lies
Believe in a better time
A time that fails to exist
Woven into the seams of lines
Faith clenched in a fist
Darting glances with sleepy eyes
White knuckled fists
Watch passively as time flies by
Oh so tempting wrists
A calling to the end
The end of it all
No hurdles left to fend
To never again fall
And you lose the courage to dream
Come apart at the seams
Monsters of the dark
Internal monsters do bleed
Cynicism has left her mark
They’re words we’ll never heed
Sleep rid cavity at your wake
Starry eyes ever so dim
All for the future’s sake
A chance ever so slim
Running on pure adrenaline
Escape from this mediocrity
A drive to excel; a drive to win
Aspiration lost at sea
Darting glances with sleepy eyes
White knuckled fists
Watch passively as time flies by
Oh so tempting wrists
A calling to then end
The end of it all
No hurdles left to fend
To never again fall
And you lose the courage to dream
Come apart at the seams
***
Kiss of death
