(0255) an involuntary movement
i imagined some sticks and stones. i imagined your skin and bones. i imagined a car wreck, put a noose around my neck, and then i drove myself all the way home. i imagined a rainbow in the sky. i imagined a fire in your eyes. i imagined a hurricane where our voices were an ugly stain that wouldn't wash off in the dark of the night. i imagined that the grass wasn't green. i imagined that i wasn't able to see. i imagined an atom bomb that led to a new song in the morning of our greatest relief. i imagined that my blood wasn't red. i imagined my brain wasn't in my head. i imagined your interest. i swear you had me by the wrists, but then i woke up in a cloud once again. i imagined the conception of a beautiful thing. i imagined the death of the spring. i imagined an elevator, and i said i wanted to hate her because the truth wasn't something i could conceive. i imagined that the cynical had died. i imagined a groom and his bride. i imagined the desert; clueless birds in the offset of a new generation had arrived. i imagined i was crossing some sort of bridge. i imagined i was becoming unhinged. i imagined i ate something that poisoned my imaginary suffering, and i imagined that ignorance was a real form of bliss. i imagined an empty road. i imagined i was getting too old. i imagined my sadness. a fishhook got caught under my lips, and i stayed here in the battering cold.
god vacates my thoughts like a rat. i'm a waiting animal in the ether, collapsed on the ground and playing dead. we have no submission line. the stars are always realigning to keep us one step behind. i thought i was less than the price of gold. i was wrong. we all have the barcode imprinted on our ugly hearts. it's a teflon reminder i keep in the undertows of my guilt, whistling all the way to the end. the returns are piled up in secrecy and put back on the shelves before you can even notice. a shallow remorse only leads us to a shallow grave of remainders moving at the speed of light. the napkin you had used, you just folded up and left it in the night. the night of our first encounter. our first seizure. and now, blood is left in our wake - a severe amount, but still, a sampling of what's to come. i waste this time because time lays us all to waste anyway. there's no reinstatement. it's like one second goes by, and we're gone like we were never here to begin with... but i don't mind so much anymore. it's kind of funny actually. i arrive back from the carnival. i must admit, it was grand. i tried to hallucinate, but all i saw were lonely tramps. they must've been looking for all the meaning they didn't care to know. they're just caught between their own secretions... i always see them come and go. they're happy when i'm not, but as far as i can tell, the cost of living's actually lower when you have nothing to sell.
no excuses when the lightning doesn't strike where i want it to. it's just a television screen where we wish our projected lives were worth attention. romanticized plotlines. no excuses when the telephone wires are cut. no excuses when i'm lumped into the rest with all the others. it was meant to be, i'm sure. such a pretty spirit. such a pretty imagination. a sensory overloaded and overexposed, and it's no wonder why we feel withdrawn, detached, and unable to fall in love. unable to breathe. to trust. it's embarassing, the way i think. just remember to forget. i wish i could forget.
an involuntary movement leads me to wither away under the shade. a quick and painless dental procedure in the next room. i shiver and shake until i get over myself. only then, have i accepted the fate of choosing to be stuck in this state of emptiness. useless long division, but if only i could use this calculator, things would be much easier. i travel to the depths of my delusions and recall a voice too afraid to speak up. if only i could speak up. tense negotions only go so far in my head, and then i throw in the towel every single time. this infection should be disinfected, but i don't think i'll get around to it. no. not for a while. i'll write my own ending in time if i have to.
there's a city in the dark in my mind. i keep traveling there, but i don't see it anywhere close nearby. i'm a double connection too late except in the parking lot of your stubborn convex restraint. and there's a pillow under these words. i like laying here in the pretty scenery of nouns and verbs. i'm a polemic punk rocker without a look. i look to your ghost, and i see the truth. and there's an empty space where my conscience erodes. i'd try to sing if the sun wasn't feeling so bold. i'm the mosquito bite that keeps coming back. you keep scratching, but it's invisible to your indifferent hands. and there's an orpheum that plays our fears in the vacancy of dreaming somewhere far off and away from here. i let it pass right through my periphery as a crushing wave of futility awaits for you at the bottom of the sea. there's a simple, old man who sits at the bottom of the hospital waiting list as he's reading empty magazines while the clock just laughs and ticks. twenty-seven miles away, i'm worrying about every word i have and haven't said. what a pretty sad waste of time in my head. and there's the dust that collects inside, the useless showers that we take at night, the useless beds where we try to sleep - i try to rest, but nothing ever comes cheap.
there's an epileptic soul who sings to me when i'm trying to dream. he's dead now, but there's an infinite static in the chords and strings. i will replicate his beauty in this page. it's what we do to keep the insane from crashing our mysterious parade of the predicated songs of truth and change. and there's a voice on the tv that shrieks. they need our attention, or they won't be relieved from the horrors of mass ignorance and greed so i change the channel to zero - the number of happiness and my heroes. and there's a fixation of concentrated wealth all over town; there's a filter stapled over my mouth. i'm a holy wall of earth and fire, bleeding basic tears of hurt and endless rose petals of desire. he stays up for a million hours until he starts to break. there's nothing he can give because he's arrived too late. he unfolds a map, looking everywhere for a trap. looking for something that will actually last. something that's mesmerizing and safe.
god vacates my thoughts like a rat. i'm a waiting animal in the ether, collapsed on the ground and playing dead. we have no submission line. the stars are always realigning to keep us one step behind. i thought i was less than the price of gold. i was wrong. we all have the barcode imprinted on our ugly hearts. it's a teflon reminder i keep in the undertows of my guilt, whistling all the way to the end. the returns are piled up in secrecy and put back on the shelves before you can even notice. a shallow remorse only leads us to a shallow grave of remainders moving at the speed of light. the napkin you had used, you just folded up and left it in the night. the night of our first encounter. our first seizure. and now, blood is left in our wake - a severe amount, but still, a sampling of what's to come. i waste this time because time lays us all to waste anyway. there's no reinstatement. it's like one second goes by, and we're gone like we were never here to begin with... but i don't mind so much anymore. it's kind of funny actually. i arrive back from the carnival. i must admit, it was grand. i tried to hallucinate, but all i saw were lonely tramps. they must've been looking for all the meaning they didn't care to know. they're just caught between their own secretions... i always see them come and go. they're happy when i'm not, but as far as i can tell, the cost of living's actually lower when you have nothing to sell.
no excuses when the lightning doesn't strike where i want it to. it's just a television screen where we wish our projected lives were worth attention. romanticized plotlines. no excuses when the telephone wires are cut. no excuses when i'm lumped into the rest with all the others. it was meant to be, i'm sure. such a pretty spirit. such a pretty imagination. a sensory overloaded and overexposed, and it's no wonder why we feel withdrawn, detached, and unable to fall in love. unable to breathe. to trust. it's embarassing, the way i think. just remember to forget. i wish i could forget.
an involuntary movement leads me to wither away under the shade. a quick and painless dental procedure in the next room. i shiver and shake until i get over myself. only then, have i accepted the fate of choosing to be stuck in this state of emptiness. useless long division, but if only i could use this calculator, things would be much easier. i travel to the depths of my delusions and recall a voice too afraid to speak up. if only i could speak up. tense negotions only go so far in my head, and then i throw in the towel every single time. this infection should be disinfected, but i don't think i'll get around to it. no. not for a while. i'll write my own ending in time if i have to.
there's a city in the dark in my mind. i keep traveling there, but i don't see it anywhere close nearby. i'm a double connection too late except in the parking lot of your stubborn convex restraint. and there's a pillow under these words. i like laying here in the pretty scenery of nouns and verbs. i'm a polemic punk rocker without a look. i look to your ghost, and i see the truth. and there's an empty space where my conscience erodes. i'd try to sing if the sun wasn't feeling so bold. i'm the mosquito bite that keeps coming back. you keep scratching, but it's invisible to your indifferent hands. and there's an orpheum that plays our fears in the vacancy of dreaming somewhere far off and away from here. i let it pass right through my periphery as a crushing wave of futility awaits for you at the bottom of the sea. there's a simple, old man who sits at the bottom of the hospital waiting list as he's reading empty magazines while the clock just laughs and ticks. twenty-seven miles away, i'm worrying about every word i have and haven't said. what a pretty sad waste of time in my head. and there's the dust that collects inside, the useless showers that we take at night, the useless beds where we try to sleep - i try to rest, but nothing ever comes cheap.
there's an epileptic soul who sings to me when i'm trying to dream. he's dead now, but there's an infinite static in the chords and strings. i will replicate his beauty in this page. it's what we do to keep the insane from crashing our mysterious parade of the predicated songs of truth and change. and there's a voice on the tv that shrieks. they need our attention, or they won't be relieved from the horrors of mass ignorance and greed so i change the channel to zero - the number of happiness and my heroes. and there's a fixation of concentrated wealth all over town; there's a filter stapled over my mouth. i'm a holy wall of earth and fire, bleeding basic tears of hurt and endless rose petals of desire. he stays up for a million hours until he starts to break. there's nothing he can give because he's arrived too late. he unfolds a map, looking everywhere for a trap. looking for something that will actually last. something that's mesmerizing and safe.
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