The thump in my chest is heavy, buried under the weight of disease.
I am choking on the worries of a benign life, super-imposed.
Or is it?
Perception, malevolent in nature
The pressure of platelets pumping heavily is fucking with my thoughts.
What is it that I have inadvertently inhaled that now wishes to drive my thoughts-
South?
I've swum in muck before and so again, I must learn to slice through the dingy water
Cupping nothing to drink and only oxygen, to flush away this bloated stagnancy.
There is a turning point here;
A rough and unfamiliar course that deviates and yet longs to tangle me downward
Another test for the road, I suppose
To coddle my morals and seek relapse into another ocean;
Consumed by waves that lap a choking reflex
I kick, and kick away to move forward
Forward and into a more curvaceous exploration
A bucking of what wants to be addressed, and yet, for here and all the days after-
Has only earned the right to be recalled in disgust.
I can't loom about in memories that have me hog-tied with a vengeance for things of a rotting nature.
Yet to dream without a compass, into a slumber that swims into subconscious longing
What torture defines me in the waking hours to follow...
He's there again, indifferent and without the gentility needed
To reverse the suppressed memories of those that climbed about
Laughing, tickling, needing his care.
What destroys a man that never breaks?
A man, who, taking pride in an ego built upon regret
Lives on in squandered loss
Blindness? Apathy? Giving a fuck, for the fuck's sake of saying so..?
There is cruelty afoot, banging about in cantankerous victory.
Folding into the blackness of not belonging.
We are a headless corpse, and the body we built lies dying
Dying that never ceases, and for what?
To continually echo of all we did wrong, despite of the right?
I am left here, baking in the sun without protection of any kind
Shielding only those that did nothing to bring on this ravaging abandonment.
The mountain is tall, so tall and often without end in sight
But I continue to climb, even on days where the foothold slips,
And I find myself thrown miles back, onto ground already traveled
Soon, I will earn the reasons and secrets for why the return of tomorrow
Will block any renegotiation's.
I build a new nest,
Strong and with heavy reinforcements.
But light enough to fly to new lands, where four hearts can bathe in cleanest waters
Rinsed free of any backwards memories that will serve to tack them down in insecurity-
Insecurities that have earned no right to be clutched by hands without responsibility
The severing of such heavy memory is one bastard of a case
Rising to the challenge was always my forte
So, in one solid and stoic ejaculation,
I ask these blatant scabs to peel free for the last time
Removing themselves from the delicate balance of all I attend.
My wish is to be successful and without waste
As 41 delivers another year of deepening respect and worship
I pick up my load as I always do, in renewed faith and understanding;
That no matter what memories may surface and scar
I take the blow with accuracy and maturity
And not flail about in wasted tears, for a man who lost his sight.
I am choking on the worries of a benign life, super-imposed.
Or is it?
Perception, malevolent in nature
The pressure of platelets pumping heavily is fucking with my thoughts.
What is it that I have inadvertently inhaled that now wishes to drive my thoughts-
South?
I've swum in muck before and so again, I must learn to slice through the dingy water
Cupping nothing to drink and only oxygen, to flush away this bloated stagnancy.
There is a turning point here;
A rough and unfamiliar course that deviates and yet longs to tangle me downward
Another test for the road, I suppose
To coddle my morals and seek relapse into another ocean;
Consumed by waves that lap a choking reflex
I kick, and kick away to move forward
Forward and into a more curvaceous exploration
A bucking of what wants to be addressed, and yet, for here and all the days after-
Has only earned the right to be recalled in disgust.
I can't loom about in memories that have me hog-tied with a vengeance for things of a rotting nature.
Yet to dream without a compass, into a slumber that swims into subconscious longing
What torture defines me in the waking hours to follow...
He's there again, indifferent and without the gentility needed
To reverse the suppressed memories of those that climbed about
Laughing, tickling, needing his care.
What destroys a man that never breaks?
A man, who, taking pride in an ego built upon regret
Lives on in squandered loss
Blindness? Apathy? Giving a fuck, for the fuck's sake of saying so..?
There is cruelty afoot, banging about in cantankerous victory.
Folding into the blackness of not belonging.
We are a headless corpse, and the body we built lies dying
Dying that never ceases, and for what?
To continually echo of all we did wrong, despite of the right?
I am left here, baking in the sun without protection of any kind
Shielding only those that did nothing to bring on this ravaging abandonment.
The mountain is tall, so tall and often without end in sight
But I continue to climb, even on days where the foothold slips,
And I find myself thrown miles back, onto ground already traveled
Soon, I will earn the reasons and secrets for why the return of tomorrow
Will block any renegotiation's.
I build a new nest,
Strong and with heavy reinforcements.
But light enough to fly to new lands, where four hearts can bathe in cleanest waters
Rinsed free of any backwards memories that will serve to tack them down in insecurity-
Insecurities that have earned no right to be clutched by hands without responsibility
The severing of such heavy memory is one bastard of a case
Rising to the challenge was always my forte
So, in one solid and stoic ejaculation,
I ask these blatant scabs to peel free for the last time
Removing themselves from the delicate balance of all I attend.
My wish is to be successful and without waste
As 41 delivers another year of deepening respect and worship
I pick up my load as I always do, in renewed faith and understanding;
That no matter what memories may surface and scar
I take the blow with accuracy and maturity
And not flail about in wasted tears, for a man who lost his sight.
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