20040801
-|media|||whore|-
they said, "Please get some medication."
and i did.
now all my thoughts have turned gray.
( and no shaded values hold true. )
oh, what lovely days.
no, love hasn't turned to hate, the drugs don't do that.
the bouncing ball hasn't taken effect.
i hate those butterflies. who gave them the right
to be free of all these emotions?
don't feed me your bullshit about god and his goodness.
no love, just anger... i wish i killed everyone.
sure i know people care, and i know that I care too.
somewhere in the back of my head, i still feel for you.
i lost all diversity of personality in this single shade of gray.
( the nether-regions of my mind. )
is it possible; is it not illogical to assume i'm dead?
- nothing here will remain unbroken -
in all his depth, Pinocchio believed he loved her;
but when he said it, his nose only grew longer
Manufacture all your plush products, in those fine leathers, cloths, silk... jewels, the purest metals.
Then produce your own knock-offs for the lower class.
prices flail. they fall. build yourself a fucking empire.
no i'm not mad at you. this isn't about you. and if you're confused, then this definitely isn't about you. this is about the insanity i can feel creeping up and down my spine when i'm paused in one place for anything more than a few seconds. This is about all those questions i've always asked myself but never vocalized; those fucked-up issues that no one wants to deal with, so they keep quiet until they forget. The little things kill. anything. everything. i confront anything, hell, even if i barely notice it, it leaves this mark on my head. well now all those little marks just built up into one huge pile of shit that's making a device out of itself. and i know i can't be the only one like this. it HAS to have other people by the throats. i know for a fact that i can't genetically turn insane until i'm at least 19. if i make it to 26 alive, then there might just be a god. but, what the fuck.
what the hell is wrong with me?
i'm a little off in the head, so they throw me around between drugs, and it gets worse. i try my own experimentation, and it works a bit, but addictions and other people's opinions get in the way far too much. i get thrown around more and more with the drugs, and it gets worse and worse. i take myself off, in a very responsible way, and it gets better for 2 or 3 days, then it goes to hell. i get back on them, it gets worse. i stay on them, it gets even more fucked up. now, i have no idea what to do. it's not like a have a psychiatrist i can trust. it's not like there's a trusting family member to confide in. i can't talk to any of my friends about all this bullshit because i'd have to hold off for fear of hurting and/or destroying them and/or myself.
FORGET ME NOTS, PLACED IN A BOX,
LOOKING LIKE A COFFIN.
what did you expect, but a wave of regret;
shedding tears from my spinal chord?
i smile when i'm happy and i frown when i am sad,
but i no longer drink just when i am bored.
a seed. a tree. a sheet. a poem.
a dream. a riff. a beat. a song.
a simple process. a simple thought.
simple deaths. of a simple cross.
but it's all complicated by moving jaws.
spreading truths they know are false.
Sunday's dry.
On fridays, we crucify.
Hear the shots. knees buckle, necks drop.
and he shouts... and he shouts,
"Why do blood stains turn the air to steam,
and rust the concrete that lines this street?"
can't escape it. you can't escape it now.
"everything you ever love will reject you or die.
everything you ever create will be thrown away.
everything you're proud of will end up as trash."
"I would do the Elgin Marbles with a sledgehammer and wipe my ass with the Mona Lisa."
"If you're male, and you're Christian and living in America, your father is your model for God."
Do You Believe That I Would Burn For You?
[well, stop it.]
{she'd take those gifts and kisses although just stringing him around..}
Into that quasi dark, we drove, not quite sure of where to go.
"Your life would be easier if the background was black."
and i did.
now all my thoughts have turned gray.
( and no shaded values hold true. )
oh, what lovely days.
no, love hasn't turned to hate, the drugs don't do that.
the bouncing ball hasn't taken effect.
i hate those butterflies. who gave them the right
to be free of all these emotions?
don't feed me your bullshit about god and his goodness.
no love, just anger... i wish i killed everyone.
sure i know people care, and i know that I care too.
somewhere in the back of my head, i still feel for you.
i lost all diversity of personality in this single shade of gray.
( the nether-regions of my mind. )
is it possible; is it not illogical to assume i'm dead?
- nothing here will remain unbroken -
but when he said it, his nose only grew longer
Manufacture all your plush products, in those fine leathers, cloths, silk... jewels, the purest metals.
Then produce your own knock-offs for the lower class.
prices flail. they fall. build yourself a fucking empire.
no i'm not mad at you. this isn't about you. and if you're confused, then this definitely isn't about you. this is about the insanity i can feel creeping up and down my spine when i'm paused in one place for anything more than a few seconds. This is about all those questions i've always asked myself but never vocalized; those fucked-up issues that no one wants to deal with, so they keep quiet until they forget. The little things kill. anything. everything. i confront anything, hell, even if i barely notice it, it leaves this mark on my head. well now all those little marks just built up into one huge pile of shit that's making a device out of itself. and i know i can't be the only one like this. it HAS to have other people by the throats. i know for a fact that i can't genetically turn insane until i'm at least 19. if i make it to 26 alive, then there might just be a god. but, what the fuck.
i'm a little off in the head, so they throw me around between drugs, and it gets worse. i try my own experimentation, and it works a bit, but addictions and other people's opinions get in the way far too much. i get thrown around more and more with the drugs, and it gets worse and worse. i take myself off, in a very responsible way, and it gets better for 2 or 3 days, then it goes to hell. i get back on them, it gets worse. i stay on them, it gets even more fucked up. now, i have no idea what to do. it's not like a have a psychiatrist i can trust. it's not like there's a trusting family member to confide in. i can't talk to any of my friends about all this bullshit because i'd have to hold off for fear of hurting and/or destroying them and/or myself.
LOOKING LIKE A COFFIN.
what did you expect, but a wave of regret;
shedding tears from my spinal chord?
i smile when i'm happy and i frown when i am sad,
but i no longer drink just when i am bored.
a seed. a tree. a sheet. a poem.
a dream. a riff. a beat. a song.
a simple process. a simple thought.
simple deaths. of a simple cross.
but it's all complicated by moving jaws.
spreading truths they know are false.
On fridays, we crucify.
Hear the shots. knees buckle, necks drop.
and he shouts... and he shouts,
"Why do blood stains turn the air to steam,
and rust the concrete that lines this street?"
can't escape it. you can't escape it now.
"everything you ever love will reject you or die.
everything you ever create will be thrown away.
everything you're proud of will end up as trash."
"I would do the Elgin Marbles with a sledgehammer and wipe my ass with the Mona Lisa."
"If you're male, and you're Christian and living in America, your father is your model for God."
Do You Believe That I Would Burn For You?
[well, stop it.]
{she'd take those gifts and kisses although just stringing him around..}
Into that quasi dark, we drove, not quite sure of where to go.
"Your life would be easier if the background was black."
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