Silly things I wrote at 10pm while listening to depressing songs, including Depeche Mode's
Enjoy the Silence for hours on end until now.
I don't know whether to look at the sky or look at the ground.
My soul seems lost but my mind is found.
Wreathing beneath me, serpent's crawl.
From dull sand comes broken Earth, and I slip from my feet.
They encompass me. I cannot move. I cry in anger as my breath is taken from me, helpless.
Then, darkness.
The air is hot and tense.
Dry and devoid of continuation.
Desolation within desecration.
But I see a prick-pin of light greeting my face.
It glows white and with such grace.
My eyes guide it.
What is my soul now flutters within my sight.
And then I feel a sense of flying.
More pricks of light cover the darkness.
I am but in the celestial heavens.
Flying above me, Beautiful Doves in rows of seven.
I watch them fly on.
But something is wrong.
The doves in their numbers begin to fall.
And so do I.
I sink through darkness once more.
Soon, again, I will come to a stop, on my feet, in a Grey desert.
Where I began.
What sounds of screaming souls begin tugging at my feet.
I feel defeat once more.
But the sun shines on.
And on I march.
Feet first into hell.
I do not know what I will face.
But I only know that it will face me.
Father Time.
Why do you lie.
Lie to me about the past.
Can it be changed?
Or, are we deranged?
For if are we mad.
Why can not such a thing be had?
Father Time, I am but a gift.
From you and Mother Nature, this is so.
My gift to you is being.
But now I am to be believing.
Today is my birthday;
You are now the giver of gifts.
And my eye is set on a temporal abyss.
See the sand in the hourglass.
Watch slowly as it shifts.
Can it not be turned on it's head.
And all that you have given.
Will be undone instead?
I hope that I have made clear to you.
You have but on your hands
A paradoxical Son.
Why am I so bound to mortal coils
Where sins go unpunished and crimes are never foiled?
Where my life can be purged
By an imperfect urge
Perhaps I should live under soil.
This one was Depeche Mode... mode.
If I could control the world.
No, control reality.
I would not be here... But Above the skies.
Looking down. On all the lies.
Behind the glass. Glass half empty.
Taking my pick. Horn of plenty.
Vengeful hands reach for triggers and buttons.
And on rained hell. Merciful bludgeons.
And all would be well.
A body within my devious embrace would fall true. A servant to my ruthless desires, burning cinders and inhuman fires through and through.
I would be corrupt. Earth would be shot to hell.
But then what is power these days. Oh well.
Then I was all like
LET IT RIDE by BTO and then I couldn't type anything meaningful but I had to cheer myself up so I didn't fail Exams :I
But when I'm done I'll go
listen to 827+ songs in the dark and then go write more slurred greydepressedshiet Do nothing.