I've always been in mourning, wasn't sure for what. I mourned the end since the beginning. What a joke. Blamed everyone. It's my sentiment: turning away from life as a coward.
Category: random feels
Organic people.
I don't get organic people. Don't they have to fight to be left alone? They blend in like soil to the rich, stinky mystery of life. Do they not question that? Is there nothing amiss? Why am I always the dissonance, a rip in the sanctity of the goddamn peace and quiet.
In hell.
If hell is the absence of love that's where I grew up. Just to make it interesting I'm afraid of everywhere else. Maybe that's why "life" is addictive there's space to hide & run. If you squint, smirk & spit enough it almost feels like heaven.
Black sun.
In my mind, I'm a rich white man cruising around not giving a damn. In my mind, in my mind. In my spirit, I'm an old witch burning fat candles for kins' woes. In my spirit, in my spirit. In my soul, I'm a lost child nothing to look for & nowhere to go. In my soul, in my soul. In my eyes, the black sun burns bright I know I can't fight, I look to you instead. In my eyes, in my eyes.
Little worm.
The worm in me like fragile broken things- ruins that are permanent with death where everything happened & done with. The little worm whispers & squirms. A seed conceived by despair & lust- in bed with red mist of mosquitos spreading decay of doubt & fear, eating away at the core. Happy little worm.
A hug and a wink.
Time doesn't wait, all I can go by is a hug & a wink. Minds don't change. Last night's fragrance whispers a hug & a wink. We say goodbyes. The weather outside gifts a hug & a wink.
Belief.
Believe in fiction, reality is boring. Believe in fiction, reality's outta reach. Believe in friction, peace is over-rated. Believe in fiction, nobody gives a shit.
Control.
Hijack this life of mine- no purpose & no reply. Giving up control for the chance to ride- to the top: a brief sunshine.
Bird.
Hi, hi, hi, this is the view when I die: leafy branches covering the sky. Before I close my eyes, like a bird with imperfect wings going home to rest.
Dominated.
Nothing worse than being dominated, falling victim of some power struggle. It tells you that you are just that and that's final. From then on, no dreams are pure and simple. It's broken will souring in a bottle used as a molotov cocktail by any passing asshole. Break out, break out, you fool! Be an animal, not mineral or vegetable.
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