My thoughts are fairy floss wrapped in a Childs dream.
Restless I lay between the sheets, the only way to see is through self destruction or at least the contemplation of it.
It’s the possibility that my electric, power thirsty blanket might turn.
Wrapping me up like an Oscar speech running…
Everything I’ve known has faded away gradually over the days, I’ve grown accustom to a comfortable numb.
Dumbed down, strung high some times.
Light a match, set it in wax.
bring out your dead like it was Sunday Mass.
Collective calm, distracted minds.
I’ve got mine.
Bring out your dead, open your head.
Let the murder feed on the death instead.
I’m burning notes I wrote years ago.
Eating my words till I overflow.
I’m numb, dumb, dishing out my cum.
I’m an asshole to those that show me freedom.
Calm down.
Get fucked.
Let me focus on love.
Getting back into it.
Rough idea :/
Soon.
Oh, how I wish I would let myself drift, through the navy blue covers into navy blue waters.
The stale stench of “fresh air” this morning.
Every morning, inflating my winded lungs, as if I had forgot how to whilst I slept.
Running on reserve, my mental petrol meter is at an all time low.
A $20 buck breakfast with a side of Tomorrow will do wonders.
Yet there’s no time for that now, lunch is the new breakfast, haven’t you heard?
Not all of the ambient music could sooth me, nor could it throw me back.
So why do I listen to it?
I am a docile nation.
I am my minimum wage on a fortnightly pay.
It’s only after half an hour that I realise I must have broken a string, a record or something.
Breath. Wait. Repeat.
It’s as if my windows have been lined with lead, dragging me down deeper and deeper and deeper into the sand.
Begin:
Out the door, down the line I run for the midnight train.
“follow my voice” she said.
“into the sea” she said.
“where masses recall what it’s like to be free again.”
All of these things we did, all of this seemed legit, yet I’m too lost in myself to dream instead.
Spun like a widows web who’s fucked up on wealth.
Every kid’s cashing in on the trust fund of health.
Good luck with the years and god speed to us all.
Rest assured that we’re dreaming ‘cause lord knows us so well.
Nighttime Daylight.
Fin.
I am the broken record player of my generation.
Skipping every minute to see my own reflection.
And they wonder why I see the world through flinching eyes.
Pollution flows, capturing our hearts.
The scene lights up and our eyes cave in.
Dreams of a dream, long live the captivating idealist.
Dreams of a dream, long live long live.
Great things are in store, support the growing disease and let go, buy buy buy.
White walls painted black, clouded skies no chance, white lies pack a punch, drunk love after love.
Feed us our daily lives.
Never ask, just obey.
The powerlines scream to each other,
“it burns, my soul is on fire.”
At the flick of a switch thier minds are put to ease.
Carbon filled lungs,
breath in, breath out.
She’s dying. Relief, die out.
