Helplessness, a cell that binds us to that which holds us back, chains that are forced down our throats to keep us from being heard. Try to swim, to stay afloat, but the weight of the blood and the cigarettes drag us to a watery grave. Your wrists bleed as you plead, beg to be freed, fucked, raped in the mouth. Ignorance is bliss yet a dungeon, difficult to escape but not impossible.
Is not paradise anything but boredom? Music, A place of solace, a fickle woman.
We bite our lips, do not laugh, for what is funny but the irony of our own suffering? Cold Cold Alone We walk, who will save us? Can you not? Some say an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind, but sometimes the world needs to see a little less and hear a little more.
Sour patch children tear at your gums and make your lips pucker, but in the end they are so sweet.
Bursting at the seams, are we! Running, hiding, yelling screaming, burning, shooting, smoking, cutting. The appeal of the void grows greater as the world grows closer. Tired are we
Tears of the young fill the rivers, and know that it is not yet my time, not till I’ve Spoken my piece.
Wanting to do everything but forced to do nothing.
Running, running, running.
An island of sweet pleasures and fun, but what is paradise but the boredom of eternity.
Alarms blaze and we are set afire by those who know best, shielding ourselves with the bodies of our friends. The American flag is taken down and spit on.
Our minds bloodied with war, we kick and scream, babies laugh and men cry. Why oh why oh why? What is a man if he cannot protect. Mother nature scoffs as we pretend to be different, that we are spared her mighty indifference.
The sky falls upon us and lost are we, amid the mushroom clouds, wrought with choice but yet none.
Gods ears are stitches my friend, yet we all pray. We piss on the homeless, but they really know best, alone yet together, nothing keeping them yet they stay. Fuck, FUCK I say! Monitor your thoughts, they cannot be free.
Run, run. Morphine and cigarettes, meth and heroine. Brothers in arms, slaves to us and slaves to them. Ravens. Birds of prey circle my head.
Dazed I run far, kisses on my face burn as gasoline.
Consciousness begins to dissipate as the needle digs farther into my arm, uncertainty follows suit.
krocodil burns holes in my arms, but two years is a long time. Too long perhaps.
Beauty surrounds us, but darkness evens the scale.
All with one and one with all. Whip marks scar our backs. “Let my people go!” Those who thrive on “It” must die. Fall as their fathers before them.
Greatness waits for no man but me. Those who think we are normal are mistaken, as well as those who think otherwise. Extraordinary are we.
Dogs yip at our heels; mankind is at its knees.
What to do but run? Run.
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