Originally Posted by Strange Famous

There is a place
I used to go
Where the wind doesnt speak
The way it does here
There is a door
I am always aware of
Just to the left of my field
Of vision
One day I'll go for a walk
One of these days
I'll cleanse myself
In blankness
I'll find the left side
Of my imagination
If it happens all at once
I might not feel a thing
Sweep me away, sweep me away
Let me go to biting red things
And imploding lights
Inside my face
I'll write my last words
And leave them in a bottle
Of a poor red wine
For nobody to read
Smashed up against rocks
and drenched in salt and shit
Instead.