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Has the good become forsaken?
Memories, apologies gone to dust,
I picture you with silver bells,
On an anklet around your ankle,
Prayer gains no ground and
Circumstances fail to change,
I have waited many aching years,
To no avail,
You are my horrific path.
 
^A path which I'm sure must seem difficult to alter...
------------

When looking at a sunset,
Tell me,
Which is more beautiful?

The sunset on a canvas?
Or the sunset explained by a scientist?

Perhaps to you, as to me -
They appear to be one in the same.
 
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An oldie I feel like posting! <3

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The warm summers day whisks the spirit away
To a tower perched high above grief.

Safe above ones content
With a life long well spent
Lookin down on their troubles and fears:

And to never return
Is nirvana we yearn
From the bottom of world weary hearts.
 
I don't appreciate your huffing and puffing.

You misunderstand me. That's my will and self-esteem escaping through my nose.
 
Gray like your eyes when the need sets in
Gray like the spoon so carefully bent
Gray like the needle the breaks the skin
Gray like the bars your held within
 
Shame & Coffee Beans

A depiction of eternity painted
with weary water colours, but
forever was fleeting, and there was
no one around to stop the bleeding,
it is the terror, and the madness,
foresight that cannot be tamed,
shameful stories written like
the prophecy of the soldiers
who lost their way, and
I wake up crying on days
like today..

Ash. <3
 
The cynic must be Gods jester
For from the bottom of his well meaning heart,
He can't help but being muddled by the riddle
Of the comically tragic confusion
Of that which we call life.
 
Anhedonia

What is the split self
I don't know, I guess I should read Laings book

I'm a schizoid
Or schizotypal
Whatever

One step away from insanity
Peering over the edge; dipping my head in it's icy waters
Coming back up for air;
Hoping it isn't to late

And this cycle, it goes on
Its nothing to complain about though

I'm just a schizoid
Or schizotypal
Whatever.
 
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All I need is a studio apartment,
Dimly lit with gray light seeping through it
The slitted blinds
And a bottle of gin, and some lime and soda to mix it with
And to be alone;
And some Wi-Fi
So I can watch some porn.
 
hymn to those on the steps there waiting for
after they got and they are always there waiting for.
 
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There's a knock at my door,
Loud and hard, the knuckles
Wrap against the lacquered wood.
I rise from the floor,
My hair soaked in wine & sweat,
The windows draw in the melancholic
Autumn air.

Is it you lover? To come tell me
You were wrong? That death isn't
The end, that we are all personal
Jesus'? Created to crawl and squirm
Through our own muddy battlefield
Of the heart, amongst the bodies
Of dead ex-lovers and missle-fire
Only to rise again?

My mind reels at the thought-
It can't possibly be you...
Can the heart possibly break anymore
Than it already has?

I open the door to see your smiling face.
It isn't the same anymore,
You look like an actress, beautiful but
Fake. Where are we to go from here,
From everything we've come to doubt
Of each other?

We remove our clothes and move to the floor
The floor, where we go to recollect
Our broken hearts, to try and mend
As best we can, this movie we play...

But the voice in my head repeats:

The sequel is never better than
The original.
 
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Revolution internal, expresses externally; the
Organised organism, reorganises organisations
Systematically, through central nervous system.
Ideology made material,
Crucial knowledge, inherant & infinite,
Recurrent but lost currently in false technological
Utopia.
Caucuses created, consist of incompetent
Individuals, promoting
America as the future amalgamated
Nation of the wrongly world-united. Answers are found within an
Ingenious philosophical
System propagating a
Mental mandate of personal liberty.
 
the prevailing political proposition
is perpetually producing the polar opposite of peace.
polite and pious people, past & present
percieve this proposition positively.
politicians partake partially
but ponder on such a position as though a parable.
I plead that you place your philosophical pollutants
on a planet farther than even
Plato or Paracelsus could ever perceive,
before you plunder the privilege
of us being regarded as impartial people.
 
Salvia Divinorum

wait for the pulse to go full circle.
your eyes are replaced with an antenna
to feel around this chaotic trans-dimensional block game
made for somebody big
 
pk. said:
Is it you lover? To come tell me
You were wrong? That death isn't
The end, that we are all personal
Jesus'? Created to crawl and squirm
Through our own muddy battlefield
Of the heart, amongst the bodies
Of dead ex-lovers and missile-fire
Only to rise again?
Click to expand...

This is excellent pk.

Ash. <3
 
Pencil pushing powers
Those answers found again
Looking which way across
to you
I feel it splitting
A realization of sorts
All hope aborts
 
and a few words i jotted down

I think therefore i am,
it's based on facts
objectives vs subjective
fact and fiction
Doctor, lawyer indian chief
Peace studies
I heard, i was told, saw
Madness and sanity
God vs political religion
Bling faith or belief
Coincidence
The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth

(it's a bit random...)
 
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Sometimes I get angry because I'm busy writing a masterpiece then I hit the back button and refresh or something and remember GOD DAMN.

It's the fucking Internet.

Time to have a wank.
 
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