12-29-2010, 07:45 PM
|
#1 (permalink)
|
|
Confused Adult
|
Moebius
Felt like sharing. I'm sure you can guess what kind of emo bullshit state of mind I was in when I wrote it. I've released it, thus, releasing this.
Quote:
If I drew your soul with my fingertips, would it bring your art to life?
Even if you knew inner peace, would you still choose inner strife?
The anti-positive, never ending causative, energy for the shield.
Broken hands, untalkative sands, obscuring the mine-field.
Perhaps this wound is self inflicted, pride dare not pin this upon the prize.
As perfectly flawed, we all dance, lost in the labyrinths that our hearts devised.
Head on collision, our worlds both burned, a heat unknown, quickly adjourned. Eyes closed, revisited fantasies, sensory recollection, inspiration for rhapsody.
She just masturbates to my misery.
The demons of time have these memories imprisoned within their claws.
The caged one, never quite escaping, missing everything that never was.
Time counts down
hours loops, thoughts loop, music loops, routines loop, this Moebius unbroken, the prison of time.
The studious eyes, affixed to the canvas, no paint, no brush, a thought enters...
what was. is not what is, it all feels like a dream, is it merely insanity, to turn back time for selfish gratification?
If true enlightenment is knowing that you know nothing
Is the key to satisfaction, to recognize the blank canvas represents art?
If I drew your soul with my fingertips, would it bring your art to life?
|
|
|
|
