Just let me at the world,
Let me at it.
I'll - I'll -
Washing machine, tumble backwards.
Pull holes in sweaters
And cling to dirty socks.
Hold tight to the same fear,
Paralyzed in the oncoming flow.
Or, what if.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Dance, Dammit!
Christianity has become a delusion.
Row on row we all sit patiently watching,
The telling of yet another redemption story.
While inside,
Parts of us fall away and die,
Like old leaves,
in the hot white light.
We wonder why the smiles do not ease the pain.
Or if they ever did.
But we keep going back.
To that same dry well.
Smart dress,
All's well.
Cliche,
Cherry blossom cheeks
Even paint begins to fade.
And there is nothing.
Nothing.
That can be done.
Until?
Row on row we all sit patiently watching,
The telling of yet another redemption story.
While inside,
Parts of us fall away and die,
Like old leaves,
in the hot white light.
We wonder why the smiles do not ease the pain.
Or if they ever did.
But we keep going back.
To that same dry well.
Smart dress,
All's well.
Cliche,
Cherry blossom cheeks
Even paint begins to fade.
And there is nothing.
Nothing.
That can be done.
Until?
Labels:
Christianity,
Christmas,
Death,
Delusion,
Leaves,
Pain,
Redemption
Puppet
THIS WEIGHT.
This weight sir, is on me ALWAYS.
I work with it.
I transit with it.
I wake up in the morning with it digging its sharp teeth into my back,
I even eat meals and read books with it over me.
And yet, if you feel it once,
I must back down from my position,
To appease your hurting.
I...
...
...
....
This weight sir, is on me ALWAYS.
I work with it.
I transit with it.
I wake up in the morning with it digging its sharp teeth into my back,
I even eat meals and read books with it over me.
And yet, if you feel it once,
I must back down from my position,
To appease your hurting.
I...
...
...
....
Labels:
Manipulation,
Puppet,
Teeth,
Weight
Well Wishes
One hundred well-wishes.
They fly like embers in the night,
And spark a temporary comfort,
But no warmth of fire will they light.
Strange memories I have,
Of these hundred wishes told,
Lighting on the cold brass bars,
Tumbling softly inward to your hold.
Fire! Fire!
Be like us! We boldly cheer,
and wonder,
Why does the creature cower, gripped with fear?
And yet you tense your back,
and beat your wings against each dying spark.
We cannot say how things went so wrong,
We only wished to warm your heart.
They fly like embers in the night,
And spark a temporary comfort,
But no warmth of fire will they light.
Strange memories I have,
Of these hundred wishes told,
Lighting on the cold brass bars,
Tumbling softly inward to your hold.
Fire! Fire!
Be like us! We boldly cheer,
and wonder,
Why does the creature cower, gripped with fear?
And yet you tense your back,
and beat your wings against each dying spark.
We cannot say how things went so wrong,
We only wished to warm your heart.
Fire
I remember one evening you told us a dream you had,
Of the cities lighting up.
We all smiled and chattered excitedly then.
And later that night, the stories lingered with us.
Mine were like little fireflies.
Young and aimless lights,
Flickering inside my belly.
Dashes and dots rearranged themselves to swell my chest with hopes,
Never thinking once,
That on the morrow they would die.
Fire.
You want to see fires starting?
I see a fire now... racing from West to East.
And I always thought that fires were supposed to mean good things...
You always told me,
"Fire of the Holy Spirit" this, "Fire of the Holy Spirit" that.
Well.
Isn't it just like us.
Focused so much on squeezing blessing out of a stone.
I watch the fire burn straight to the forests edge, and collide into the treetops with no mercy.
It pours out across the body of a grassland plain.
Tall stems bow and wither in the heat;
and there is no water left in any of them,
to slow the blaze one breath.
I used to think, friend, that fires meant something good.
That I should skew my reason, to fit what we all wanted, and needed, to see.
"Surely it means revival!"
"Surely God is with us!"
"Surely... the grasses were not destroyed."
But now I know....
That the death card, can be read as fortune.
Can be read as gain, can be read as new life.
And the death card...
The death card can be read wrong.
Of the cities lighting up.
We all smiled and chattered excitedly then.
And later that night, the stories lingered with us.
Mine were like little fireflies.
Young and aimless lights,
Flickering inside my belly.
Dashes and dots rearranged themselves to swell my chest with hopes,
Never thinking once,
That on the morrow they would die.
Fire.
You want to see fires starting?
I see a fire now... racing from West to East.
And I always thought that fires were supposed to mean good things...
You always told me,
"Fire of the Holy Spirit" this, "Fire of the Holy Spirit" that.
Well.
Isn't it just like us.
Focused so much on squeezing blessing out of a stone.
I watch the fire burn straight to the forests edge, and collide into the treetops with no mercy.
It pours out across the body of a grassland plain.
Tall stems bow and wither in the heat;
and there is no water left in any of them,
to slow the blaze one breath.
I used to think, friend, that fires meant something good.
That I should skew my reason, to fit what we all wanted, and needed, to see.
"Surely it means revival!"
"Surely God is with us!"
"Surely... the grasses were not destroyed."
But now I know....
That the death card, can be read as fortune.
Can be read as gain, can be read as new life.
And the death card...
The death card can be read wrong.
Well He Wasn't. Listen To Your Gut, Folks.
If I tell you I love you...
A knot pulls up in my stomach.
A bright red flag, screaming at me to turn and run.
If I tell you I love you...
I cut the last safety rope.
And I'll free-fall - bloody free-fall.
And I guess at the core of it, I'm just afraid...
... That you might not be there to catch me.
A knot pulls up in my stomach.
A bright red flag, screaming at me to turn and run.
If I tell you I love you...
I cut the last safety rope.
And I'll free-fall - bloody free-fall.
And I guess at the core of it, I'm just afraid...
... That you might not be there to catch me.
Ah, Those Arms
World spins.
Today I will be happy.
tomorrow I will... have a nice bout on the floor?
With a cup of tea, and fresh biscuits?
See a bloody scene,
Train wreck - twisted metal, arms askew?
Ah, those arms.
They always made me squirm.
Writhing in the sheets, with full knowledge that another day is quick on the horizon.
Better get it together.
Can't stay lying around here, that's for sure.
Can't stay sleeping away the days.
Because you see,
If I did try -
Try to lie there with a better world inside my head -
The debtors would be biting at my heels,
And they would surely take my bed!
Today I will be happy.
tomorrow I will... have a nice bout on the floor?
With a cup of tea, and fresh biscuits?
See a bloody scene,
Train wreck - twisted metal, arms askew?
Ah, those arms.
They always made me squirm.
Writhing in the sheets, with full knowledge that another day is quick on the horizon.
Better get it together.
Can't stay lying around here, that's for sure.
Can't stay sleeping away the days.
Because you see,
If I did try -
Try to lie there with a better world inside my head -
The debtors would be biting at my heels,
And they would surely take my bed!
An Anemic Athemic
Doesn't matter,
Go to sleep.
There's no rescue from this,
- no easy out.
No pill to pop.
No medical charts saying,
"Well shit, looks like it was just THIS all along!"
"We can fix it easy!"
Just tired.
Just work.
Day.
After day.
Of being too weak
To escape the set trajectory.
I'd rather go on wax wings, thank you very much!
The ending is the same -
I know.
But I'd still rather fly there,
Hand gripped firm around the kill-switch,
Laughing bitterly,
"You'll never get me now."
Go to sleep.
There's no rescue from this,
- no easy out.
No pill to pop.
No medical charts saying,
"Well shit, looks like it was just THIS all along!"
"We can fix it easy!"
Just tired.
Just work.
Day.
After day.
Of being too weak
To escape the set trajectory.
I'd rather go on wax wings, thank you very much!
The ending is the same -
I know.
But I'd still rather fly there,
Hand gripped firm around the kill-switch,
Laughing bitterly,
"You'll never get me now."
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