Years ago...
Fairly large an empty hall with two satin seats. You were on my right, leaned back against your own vertical spine, I was as well. You were watching the show from afar, seemingly attentive but rightfully distant.
With the corner of my eye I was observing your every twist. Your torso twitching, in spasms of emotions, I took note of each and every one. I loved living through your breaths, having completely forgotten about the show in front of us. Distant... frigid. I could have almost reached you, but my nerves were caught tangled in versions of what could be, whose instant happiness guarded our skin from ever meeting.
Perhaps it's in the pain of having lost a battle. What drove me on my knees with my guitar in my hands screaming "Scorch" to the tip of my lungs. As i lay in bed that night, pain overgrew me, consumed me, i had no wall. Neither did I wish to have. Now I can recall my body twitching with your same spasms of emotion. I borrowed your sublime I could not reach otherwise, buried into mine and, as if it were my own, magnified it. It drenched out of my serrated veins, it drove me insane. No organic picture, no tree aside, it was raw, human, brutal pain.
The virus has arteries of its own, that crawl under your flimsy skin, up your spinal tree. Your eyes roll to the back and in one final struggle... Silence.
"Cute show!" said the corner of my mind that objectively oversaw myself losing control over my life-giving tree. "Next time, be quicker to catch not just the pain!", came the solution.
Blue. Moist blue. Humid, rancid. Smells of sulfur and coal. It's dusty, lingers on your fingers, won't drip when washed. Blue, petrifying on your very skin, commandeering your delicacy. Ivory tusks grow on the feeble figure of a king. Steadfastly, it obscures its nonsense, his crown fits no longer on his curved synapses. He dies assured of his immortality, he lied, he's a tramp.
Roses have spikes that grow vengefully into his corpse. He let out one final battle shout... Act!
Love, take my hand.
With the lesson learned, and happiness retrieved in sleep, I linger on your mind for a while. It's time for a joke. To learn some more. Technological sedatives are killing so fast, we have to get together. My spec of dust shall part.
Comrade, can you hear the whispers, Judge human inability for beauty
Tearing down the context In it's raw, atomic state
Brother, till you'd cross my rivers, Like I tried so hard to borrow kindly
I had won the contest. Your admiration, my image is too late.
With the corner of my eye I was observing your every twist. Your torso twitching, in spasms of emotions, I took note of each and every one. I loved living through your breaths, having completely forgotten about the show in front of us. Distant... frigid. I could have almost reached you, but my nerves were caught tangled in versions of what could be, whose instant happiness guarded our skin from ever meeting.
Perhaps it's in the pain of having lost a battle. What drove me on my knees with my guitar in my hands screaming "Scorch" to the tip of my lungs. As i lay in bed that night, pain overgrew me, consumed me, i had no wall. Neither did I wish to have. Now I can recall my body twitching with your same spasms of emotion. I borrowed your sublime I could not reach otherwise, buried into mine and, as if it were my own, magnified it. It drenched out of my serrated veins, it drove me insane. No organic picture, no tree aside, it was raw, human, brutal pain.
The virus has arteries of its own, that crawl under your flimsy skin, up your spinal tree. Your eyes roll to the back and in one final struggle... Silence.
"Cute show!" said the corner of my mind that objectively oversaw myself losing control over my life-giving tree. "Next time, be quicker to catch not just the pain!", came the solution.
Blue. Moist blue. Humid, rancid. Smells of sulfur and coal. It's dusty, lingers on your fingers, won't drip when washed. Blue, petrifying on your very skin, commandeering your delicacy. Ivory tusks grow on the feeble figure of a king. Steadfastly, it obscures its nonsense, his crown fits no longer on his curved synapses. He dies assured of his immortality, he lied, he's a tramp.
Roses have spikes that grow vengefully into his corpse. He let out one final battle shout... Act!
Love, take my hand.
With the lesson learned, and happiness retrieved in sleep, I linger on your mind for a while. It's time for a joke. To learn some more. Technological sedatives are killing so fast, we have to get together. My spec of dust shall part.
Comrade, can you hear the whispers, Judge human inability for beauty
Tearing down the context In it's raw, atomic state
Brother, till you'd cross my rivers, Like I tried so hard to borrow kindly
I had won the contest. Your admiration, my image is too late.