And so I fall... |
To Be Trapped Allie BattAnd, when everything turns to ash, Will I meet you at the end? As the light crumbles before the dawn, And the bare existence of eternity swipes away at our inconsistent tears, Will I see your face? And for that mere reason, I ask, Can I break now, For the idea of you holding me still? If I were to simply fall, Would you be the one to keep me elevated on sand, Instead of the incestuous seduction of surrendering to the depths? Can I seep then? I don’t recall another time, when loss of willpower was the most ideal condition, And, the path as a human being was so strained and tainted by my spirit. When did the fall seem more translucent and innocent then pure emotion? For, I can only feel the pain again, And it welcomes me with open chagrin and complex tears. Without being able to walk, It transcends the mere thought of a world without grounding. When did those bellowing sighs begin to taste so sickeningly sweet? And the idea of compensation became so irritatingly irrational. No more, I would cry. I would tear off the scab of humanity myself, If only I had the nails to break through the context. So, will you do the deed? Will you be the one to push me off the edge of insanity, And into a realm where I am far more knowledgeable. How quickly I lost my sense of intellect. And how insouciantly I died. Yet, even in death, I can’t break past my boundaries of emotions, Or, perhaps, push through to them. Did I lose the will of conceptual thought, in order to live and be loved? Who knows if I ever felt at all. Or, if I only ever felt. It’s dead now, anyway, That life I knew. And yet, how completely it seeks to remind me of it’s sweet taste. It remains coated inside of my mouth, Like year-old sins. What would you like me to do? I simply ask the question, trying to desperately find an answer worth knowing. Perhaps, there is one. Perhaps, I don’t want to know it if there isn’t. All I know, is that falling is the purest form of self-indulgence, And all I want is to be trapped with you. By whim. By heart. By sin. Who knows what it is I actually want. And yet, perhaps I’ll live out my life, My death, Hoping that you’ll help me find it, And consistently pick me up as I fall. 8/7/2009 |