jifinley
07/10/03, 08:56 PM
There is a place. Beyond the realm of perception. Outside your dreams. You go there sometimes when you’re awake, but you’d never know it. It is a subconscious seduction. Your sanctuary. That place that coats you in novacane, and makes you feel better by feeling less. You cant leave footprints on the ground because you don’t leave footprints when you walk on water. That’s right. You’re treading on a tide. A wave of emotion and apathy. And one day instead of leaving, snapping out of the coma, you just fall asleep. You fall asleep in the arms of the drug. The novacane. And you smile a numb smile, because for once you cant feel the splinters in your mind. And its here. Here that you wake up. Wake up and start walking. Walking until somewhere in the middle you start to wonder how you got there. You cant remember, and you cant see your steps. So you make a home of the ocean. Its cold. And there are monsters. But pretty soon you’re numb again. Alone. Drowning in an endless saline pool that started with a tear. Waiting for the waves. Because the waves are deliverance. You float on the surface of things. Every now and then you sink beneath the tides, but nothing sinks into you. You wonder how you got there. And you pray when you wake, you’ll be more sane. But then again, you were never dreaming in the first place.
The Sky of Many Things
Each day comes and brings with it
An aching I will not solicit
A yearning for the days gone by
Laced with heartbreak in stolen time
The morning breaks and light creeps in
I wish not to see these bones and skin
Instead I dread my own reflection
And seek an emaciated perfection
What once was coveted, now forgotten
And I am left here, cold and sullen
The darkness comes in with the light
Internal black speaks wrong of right
I reach for things I once despised
The ebb of weakness my demise
And so it goes, my perfect skin
Is coursed with toxins swallowed in
And I wrap myself, in cotton cocoons
Begot with poison from silver spoons
What might have been will never be
Until I purge these lies in me
Denial is a sickly curse
Night skies and stars, my only nurse
For when the shade begins to fall
I do not have to see it all
As long as it is dark outside
My demons in the shadows hide
Vampiric, sleeping way the day
I seek to dream my life away
And think perhaps the view will change
Once the morrow is arranged
A hope I know does seldom thrive
But one to which my soul will strive
And so I dwell long in my past
And dream the sickness will not last
When the onyx blanket drapes the sun
When the creeping day is done
I sink beneath a dream of day
A world in which my mind will play
There with moonbeams in my hair
The world is bled from petty cares
And I am whole there once again
Dancing in my perfect skin
I wish not to wake from this fantasy
But to remain asleep indefinitely
Here I find my strength to be
A vision of felicity
In the dark, with body numbed
Asleep, with lips still and dumb
have you ever wished for once to be
Someone else entirely
I have not, but have often felt
I wished again to be myself.
Long has it been since I have seen
The twinkle in my eyes of green
It is a pungent, long, nostalgic pain
That keeps my spirit stubborn, vain
Sometime I think that all this sorrow
May be finished all tomorrow
If I could exit through closet doors
And don the wardrobe that it stores
Would it make a difference
To these saline eyes
Would it be enough for my disguise
If I vomit words onto a page
Will it stop this intrinsic rage
That I have wielded against my self
For things left sitting on a shelf
Collecting dust and making dreams
Of days within the silken seams
If tiny pockets ‘round my bones did cling
Would soul-fulfillment with it bring?
I know it not, but seek it still
Downing countless capsuled pills
Some to aid in my affliction
Others nourish some addiction
I make a plan with each new day
And watch the hours slip away
So long to promises unaccomplished
My record is now bleak and tarnished
The music comes in soft and slow
When I can’t speak of present woe
And Lennon and McCarthy sing
Of blackbirds with their broken wings
But I think in verse that they did lie
Such birds can never learn to fly
For I have tried with broken wings
To mount the sky of many things.
The Sky of Many Things
Each day comes and brings with it
An aching I will not solicit
A yearning for the days gone by
Laced with heartbreak in stolen time
The morning breaks and light creeps in
I wish not to see these bones and skin
Instead I dread my own reflection
And seek an emaciated perfection
What once was coveted, now forgotten
And I am left here, cold and sullen
The darkness comes in with the light
Internal black speaks wrong of right
I reach for things I once despised
The ebb of weakness my demise
And so it goes, my perfect skin
Is coursed with toxins swallowed in
And I wrap myself, in cotton cocoons
Begot with poison from silver spoons
What might have been will never be
Until I purge these lies in me
Denial is a sickly curse
Night skies and stars, my only nurse
For when the shade begins to fall
I do not have to see it all
As long as it is dark outside
My demons in the shadows hide
Vampiric, sleeping way the day
I seek to dream my life away
And think perhaps the view will change
Once the morrow is arranged
A hope I know does seldom thrive
But one to which my soul will strive
And so I dwell long in my past
And dream the sickness will not last
When the onyx blanket drapes the sun
When the creeping day is done
I sink beneath a dream of day
A world in which my mind will play
There with moonbeams in my hair
The world is bled from petty cares
And I am whole there once again
Dancing in my perfect skin
I wish not to wake from this fantasy
But to remain asleep indefinitely
Here I find my strength to be
A vision of felicity
In the dark, with body numbed
Asleep, with lips still and dumb
have you ever wished for once to be
Someone else entirely
I have not, but have often felt
I wished again to be myself.
Long has it been since I have seen
The twinkle in my eyes of green
It is a pungent, long, nostalgic pain
That keeps my spirit stubborn, vain
Sometime I think that all this sorrow
May be finished all tomorrow
If I could exit through closet doors
And don the wardrobe that it stores
Would it make a difference
To these saline eyes
Would it be enough for my disguise
If I vomit words onto a page
Will it stop this intrinsic rage
That I have wielded against my self
For things left sitting on a shelf
Collecting dust and making dreams
Of days within the silken seams
If tiny pockets ‘round my bones did cling
Would soul-fulfillment with it bring?
I know it not, but seek it still
Downing countless capsuled pills
Some to aid in my affliction
Others nourish some addiction
I make a plan with each new day
And watch the hours slip away
So long to promises unaccomplished
My record is now bleak and tarnished
The music comes in soft and slow
When I can’t speak of present woe
And Lennon and McCarthy sing
Of blackbirds with their broken wings
But I think in verse that they did lie
Such birds can never learn to fly
For I have tried with broken wings
To mount the sky of many things.