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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Relationship · #1417907
To reach the core, we have to dig through the apple and break the unblemished skin...
The way it all goes:
You're me and I'm you and everything I say and do is fed to me and spit up to be forced back into an unwilling mouth
and spewed to the masses.
You get the wrong idea, I get a bad idea and the unsuspecting audience has no idea what's in store
The grapevine twisted its way around the tree and choked the life out of all of us
And your messenger comes stumbling back as butchered as Caesar
to let the message rule over us with wrath as vicious as lions.
Mediums awaken to broadcast the white noise we've become so used to
Drenching sense and sensitivity and soaking in alcohol
Preserve the thoughts, the dreams, the past, and numb the future.
The present? Don't even ask.
Save your breath for the surprise in store, the headlines that grab your eye and grab your wrist
Drag you shouting from the candy store because you haven't sold your soul just yet.
Oh, what you wouldn't give to take all you can, because nothing is without a price
But it can be without life.
Loopholes, hidden moles, stoked coals, assholes
Forced roles upon an acting troupe with no script
Because we say it's reality, and the set walls are closing right in
Truman hits the solid sky, we cry
We're all drowning in a knee-deep ocean
Twist our strings to make us slip, clip our wings to keep us from flying into the sun
We love how you show affection.

It's like stepping from a moving car with your coat stuck in the door
Going for a ride when you're facedown on the floor
Textured roadways change as you gasping, screaming "more!"
And excitement finds the vein just to treat it like a whore.
To find the core of this rotten apple, we'd have to dig through the pretty, pristine, unbroken skin
The polished wax that protects the vulnerable, no match against serrated teeth and jagged hearts
But hey, it tried, and that's all that matters, right?
A for effort.
F for failure anyways
C for what we couldn't through the dust storm that we made
Minus ten marks for laughing.
We sit in desks to have what we know ripped from us and judged,
So I challenge you, faceless hordes, judge what's in my heart instead of what color ink is in my pen, and see how the answers line up now.

You can run, but you can't walk
You can hide, but you can't surrender
You can reach your breaking point, but you're in for a shock if you think you're going over it.
When it's survival of the bastards, suicide is cheap, die expensive
Stick your tongue in the socket for the cheap thrills you so craved and tell us if you still want them
Introduce Mr. Fork to Mr. Wall Outlet and watch the lively debate crackle
Heed every word I think and have it done before I say it
If you have to, say it for me.
Just don't you dare walk out of here without leaving yourself in the collection plate that knows no modesty.
see you next sunday.

Welcome back. If you're just tuning in, the doomsday clock adjusted for daylight savings time.
Springing forward never felt so backwards, did it?
You have yourself to blame, because we planted the apple seeds of remorse in your head
When our wrongdoing went unpunished
Almost makes you want to bring back the strap.
Thanks for picking up the cheque on this one, We're fresh out of thought and don't get anymore until payday.
The world's most devastating dine-and-dash has just taken place,
Hope you can catch up.

The gravestones are buried with nothing to mark their place
Except for the last blade of grass, the remains of what once was
To be split and torn and fought over to mark where we will someday lay
Because you've doomed us all.
© Copyright 2008 Neon Man (wreckofages at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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