Help me hide it away
Under thin coats of cracking paint
Under smothering soundscapes
Where every layer I’ve made
Competes for a place
Help me hide it away
Under thin coats of cracking paint
Under smothering soundscapes
Where every layer I’ve made
Competes for a place
From the other side of Somewhere.
From the endless halls of Elsewhere.
We are punished for the things that we do not understand, the things we question, for wanting a second opinion. Religion and spirituality is too broad of a topic for me to get into. Everyone defending their own sides, ready to knife the enemy like they “know” what they’re defending. Life isn’t fair. Mine never has been. My point is we are all here aren’t we? Struggling with money, family problems, health issues, relationships, death. I believe that we possess more power than gods and deities. We can help each other, now, when it counts, rather than praying to an image we’ve never seen and waiting for miracles. Believe in what you wish, just know that we, the alive and breathing, can help keep everyone else alive and breathing.
NO ONE SHOULD HAVE TO FIGHT THIS WORLD.
NO ONE SHOULD HAVE TO FIGHT THIS WORLD ALONE.
This is me, nothing more than a cold sore. Burning cities. and causing violent fucking uproars. I can’t count the seconds through delay pedals and fallen petals blown from silent lips reciting these riddles.
If I have fallen then let it be. I’ve set my bar high so listen up, sit down and take a seat. I can’t count the seconds through delay pedals and fallen petals blown from silent lips reciting these riddles.
Can you wrap your mind through twisted vines bearing dismissal.
When life is not a structured science, breathes are artificial.
You’re just a puppet with a temporary back-lit smile.
I’m the conductor twirling strings of an unprocessed child.
Now my footsteps take precedence. Imprints as evidence. Traffic sounds fade inducing the resonance, whispering knowledge that lines the displays of exhibits defining why I exist.
I am colors discolored like the ripest dying tulips
Preaching god as a mother, who told me love required two lips.
I commune with the lifeless, deeming spirits as a narrative
that voices passion through paralysis.
Here I am, an old man in a dry month bearing signs of age.
Scribbled hope on scrap paper, a thousand words from page to page.
Fastening my truth and all my prayers unto my trigger finger.
Blasting hollow points of knowledge through your skull so I can linger.
This is me, nothing more than a cold sore. Burning cities. and causing violent fucking uproars. I can’t count the seconds through delay pedals and fallen petals blown from silent lips reciting these riddles.
If I have fallen then let it be. I’ve set my bar high so listen up, sit down and take a seat. I can’t count the seconds through delay pedals and fallen petals blown from silent lips reciting these riddles.
I’ve lost my touch, but I’m certain I speak a new language. I’m a train-wreck orchestra immune to the damage.
Pill bottles, late nights, nicotine and coffee breath. A thousand regrets that I’ll never regret.
Im Always standing transfixed in blank devotion, as an apparition to myself just going through motions.
Compiling all of my memories. into countless archives, locking the vault to hide the demons in the back of my mind.
I have painted distress calls across the sky
with these tortured air brushes that I call mine.
Unveiling a third eye and new paradigms,
decoding inscriptions that I now belie.
I am tearing through fibers and endless flesh
Winding clocks that keep ticking inside my chest.
I am seven mountains higher then the valley of death.
Seven dimension deeper then the dimensions of breath.
This is me, nothing more than a cold sore. Burning cities. and causing violent fucking uproars. I can’t count the seconds through delay pedals and fallen petals blown from silent lips reciting these riddles.
If I have fallen then let it be. I’ve set my bar high so listen up, sit down and take a seat. I can’t count the seconds through delay pedals and fallen petals blown from silent lips reciting these riddles.
I don’t gamble because the stakes are high. I’ve lost more than I can hide under these floorboards filled with cracks where I reside.
Twice born and bathed in sun, drenched in sweat, laced with sin, from the marathons I run.
But I refuse to place second so play the part. I am trigger happy in your face love that you have never dared to dream of.
A metamorphosis that spits on your consensus, writing rhymes and penning words that runs full laps around your senses.
My translucent mind cannot fathom mediocracy. So I unknit the fabrics of this galaxy. Pulling threads, unstitching and altering the density, of a new world soaked in water and drowned at sea.
Why am I cursed to be the bearer of these images? Fighting phases, shifting places, never leaving traces? Because I’m the only man who talks to god in native tongue, I’m the only one that lights the moon and sparks the sun.
Its quite remarkable how many key words I can use to just describe the last seven days of my life.
Guitar riffs, pizza place, energy drinks, cigarettes, mistakes, a new girlfriend, and ex girlfriend, bills, rap beats, guns, phone calls, emergency room, immediate family, fuck you’s, bloody knuckles, sex, headaches, text, silence, cold winds, addicts, bus routes, back seats, presents, returns, cards, ink, dress shirts, sweat pants, memories, religion, stars, daydreams, sleep.
That doesn’t even scrap the surface.
I’ve been neglecting my writing lately as well as my music. I’ve hit such a rough spot. I just want to get back to doing the things I love but I just don’t have the time or will or health. I was wondering how many people actually read my blog? And whether this is something I should continue to do?
Hard-wired
To the recklessness of perception
Bathed in artificial light
Steeped in fabricated time
Storm clouds gather in this altered state
Fabled
Decline;
Within
The text
Resides
My next
Shape Shift
Time Slip.
