25, writer's block with the lines of life.
Starry nights and the clearest skies stand in defiance of rising tides.
A fear of displacement.
The strangling memory of false verdicts passed.
Yet although life's been graceful
(please understand that) it giveth and taketh back.
(And) I've tried to regain the strength to conclude and follow through.
In this face tonight I see failure. Promises bent for a pair of dark rings and sore limbs.
I'm done with making amends.
Lying at the feet of temptation, lost in reverie over her numbing touch. “Closer”, she whispers, as I give into the ecstasy of self-defiance.
This guilt I can't endure.
For mere affection.
Give into the allure,
my sole direction for years now, the short-sighted wretch that I've been.
I've seen how easily perspective shifts, how easy it is to forget.
Our mind's persuasive artistry, our heart's eternal debt.
Turn in spite as you always do and carry through.
It'll be a while before you pay your dues.
As long as these ashes you can swallow,
In your own filth you're damned to wallow.
“I learned through my body and soul that it was necessary to sin, that I needed lust, that I had to strive for property and experience nausea and the depths of despair in order to learn not to resist them, in order to learn to love the world, and no longer compare it with some kind of desired imaginary vision of perfection, but to leave it as it is, to love it and be glad to belong to it.”
- Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha
Track Name: Lorraine
It seems so easy just to dwell in the moment.
Embracing a thin dream, free of any concept of motion.
Oh what a beautiful lie that would be.
However perfect this may seem,
I don't recall ever having felt the assuring touch of an eternal spring
but please believe me when I say that I want this to work out more than anything.
Since we've unclenched our fists before thee, invite us in, I'm sorry again, my friend, I come to you with faults to amend, just remember how much I lost by putting myself into your hands.
It's been a while and it's warm here as ever and maybe I'll stay a bit longer in hope that (2x) the past will blow over and in our time the heart will find release.
Our bodies will forgive us the damage as you have forgiven our deceit.
And with this gift of redemption,
these half-dreams cling to me still.
Yet with this breath drawn anew,
they shall not drain nor restrain me any longer with you.
Regardless of what is to come, a faintest distant whisper has bloomed into the sweetest summer tune. The narrative of the beauty that is and surrounds you.
I no longer sense a need for shelter.
Your song is a fortress.
“My heart sings of your longing for me, and my thoughts climb down to marvel at your mercy. I do not fear as you gather up my days. Your name is the sweetness of time, and you carry me close into the night, speaking consolations, drawing down lights from the sky, saying, See how the night has no terror for one who remembers the Name.” - Leonard Cohen, Book of Mercy
Track Name: Beneath Sheets Of Dust
Pinning down the symptoms,
cynical and self-destructive, bipolar to the bone,
prone to worst-case scenarios,
tangled words stuck in the back of my throat.
not quite sure if this is the end yet, but I curse and loathe you, my silhouette.
I just wish I could rest assured that everything will be ok.
I'm pretty sure now that everything will be ok.
For what it's worth, my mind strays more and more and more every day.
Drafting the preface of an unfinished plot, page after page.
I can't afford poor decisions anymore.
Watching you become so blunt, sick and sore has left me running out of things to say.
More people have come and gone than I can even remember.
These farewells spoken softly and sadly just take time to set.
So young and careless and so very far from death.
Hearts won and lost in a race to the end.
All this time spent in reminiscence and stagnant efforts to relive the past.
I see this for what it is now, but I'm not ready to shed this skin quite yet.
You can never leave everything behind.
Regardless of how hard the fight,
no matter how beautiful the love you find,
or how many bloodstained lines you write.
It's part of you until the end, brush off and live life.
"Actual happiness always looks pretty squalid in comparison with the over-compensations for misery. And, of course, stability isn't nearly so spectacular as instability. And being contented has none of the glamour of a good fight against misfortune, none of the picturesqueness of a struggle with temptation, or a fatal overthrow by passion or doubt. Happiness is never grand." A. Huxley, Brave New World