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Bound and gagged in heaven,
Smiling faces swarm this existance of a timid soul.
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Living life in a fish bowl of cliche's,
Doing what you're told from the poetry of a television.
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You write shitty words that rhyme,
And are about absolutely nothing,
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Forever searching...
We wait in silence.
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Don't wake me up from this dream,
As I lay here listening to the rain falling so softly on the windowpane.
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This is a story of struggle.
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Fake diaries,
Sold to the world with a discount.
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I need to write more.
I need to waste some time.
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new AP. done with this one.
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Wishful thinking,
Overuse of a word that never meant nothing.
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Complain a thousand times in a simple second,
Only to wish that second could be replenished in the moment it was taken.
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A grain of sand in an open wound
A tiny man in a heavenly tomb.
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My mouth must remain shut at all times,
So that I may never speak for anyone to hear.
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Artificialness of the most beautiful kind;
A piece of manufactured love created for the sake of revenge.
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Sitting alone on a wooden stool
Not much taller than he once was just a few years ago
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Such beauty awaits at thy fingertips,
Only to be covered with thorns that wound.
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A story that all true-lovers have read,
Only I stole it from the library of hearts everywhere.
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A walking contradiction roams through these halls;
A mile-long smile swallows the facade of faith.
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Such beauty awaits at thy fingertips,
Only to be covered with thorns that wound.
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I've created all of these faults,
Acting like dandelions in the summer wind.
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The sun was relentless that July morning.
Only hot air blew out of that dusty, old car's air conditioner.
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Remember when I skinned my knee,
And you fell on purpose to make me feel better?
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Words of hate will pour from these crystal-laden veins,
Like the rusty water pours from the dirty, old faucet.
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Siamese minds resting in Siamese lands,
Torn between the sin that binds them together,
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Saturday night.
Nothing is going on.
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