showing through

days and days
2004-06-19 05:05:48 (UTC)

motion of highness in its glorious nature.

sit beneith your rocket red hair. stand below the darkest
of the airs that grace your metro station of the sun.
Crawl on your imaginary paws, into the dark midnight air.
or perhaps at once it is all of after twelve. not twelve.
no where near your distant skies. Live beneith your handy
heart, made of rotting candy. don't try to explain it
again. im deafer than that you see. I hear beneith your
masked tone of voice and see. see it all.
I see in the pure crystal breeze that once you knew that
life was not a fairytale. crystal ball of air. fondel
their minds with impurity and craze. not craze. normality.
nothing is normal in this fictional world on the sand.
SAND in your toes are caressing the expedition of the
lizard with a sac and no balls. don't hit him in the
crotch. because that word is inappropriate in nature of
science.

Falling beneith the cracks of something inexperienced and
unfaithful in tension. not tense but not tolerable. creep
below it all, and never seen in the wicca center. never in
that center. Leak your dripping heart through the craters
and grates of the imagination. the deep center of
everything that ever was but never really wanted to be.
release itself in your soul and upper cresent moon. the
moon of moods that ceases to amaze the selfish and unkind.
the kind. THAT kind. the only ever never always has been
the only ever. that's what the secret lies beneath. your
mother of pearl club of nature.don't keep breaking his
heart. his bould shoulders are weakening. withholding this
unnatural weight of unhappy sorrow. drowning in the
sadness. alone. again. all at once.

nothing longterm. nothing in howling. the mood of nothing
is filling this empty air. floating in a risky pleasure of
nothing true or sincere. sacrifice my needs or music of
serene. serene all of the trees in balcana. the city of
words that float past any lyric or beat. no words needed
this solemn song. lonesome of beauty breezing its beauty
on the perfection of itself. bask in yourself. find it in
the mirrors of your soul. your breaking, tender soul. full
of angst. too much for your own good. too much for this
floating head of mine that spins in the lights of this
screen. bright. uncool. unwarm. unhomely. cold shoulder of
dispair reaches its bones to my bleeding skull. unpretty
and even hideous. blow the snow off of the path to save
the failing, regretting selves that distance themselves
from this dizzy reality.

I must betray this work because of substance beneath an
uncertain nose. the sound finds itself on my windowsil.
everything is ending at this dark, poorly lit chamber.
enter to real lives. real selves. real sleep. or perhaps
the dream of it.

sigh. meet again soon. peace and peach. take it all.
Every picture tells a picture tony.




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