the weirdest thing I've ever written |
The ripples in his mind would not straighten No amount of time nor pleasure he wished to have had could have fixed it But… could we have asked for anything more When he breaks a bone can anyone hear it? If all alone with not even sight can anyone bear it? My life is not empty and blank, but can he still hold it? Burning alive is he at the stake, and yet he still buries it A lie that makes him truth A vision that makes him no longer you A fist that breaks through the iron gate A life that’s not so in vain Set fire to the eyes Bring pain with no knife Kill if only to live live if only to forgive When nothing has happened and nothing will give A mind won’t hold up It doesn’t exist He could not hold onto what he had But if at this point at all in his so called life where had he walked Purged is the words on his paper Faded faces of machines with no names Had he been there to begin with? Had his existence meant anything to the dogs with lighted faces? Nothing felt worthwhile to the man of pure blank A cesspool full of toy guns could not quell his unspeakable madness A field of green fabric just was never his thing Walking away is the hands of melted plastic and quilted threads When will the green truly be green? This is all he has when he walks to his file Filtered back in with the rest of them Created by nothing and living through none Moving still are the giants of grey Turned are their eyes Forgotten is their breath Is this world just a book or extension Can he be among the tempered steel? Or is he just yarn? The rest is not known Nor is it forgotten |