Ashley
Bluelight Crew
Dirt, Not Soil
Murky waters, discolored by my emphatic emptiness,
the skies cry grey clouds and solicit a storm of
loneliness. A missing portion, the anarchy immense,
too few pieces to assemble any kind of static peace.
Echoed lullabies that creep my eyes to sleep. The
tears and dream land sobbing. A heart disabled by
the loss of a precious atom, it shifting from an
uncomfortable existence.
A flesh wound with a rusty silver scalpel, I
think certainly. Some out there would pray for my
sour, rotten soul. The madness in need of destruction.
The grass always fails to grow when the petals of
lifeless flowers fall and inevitably poison the land,
dismembering the hope of magic, that I no longer
believe to exist.
If only it grew like maggots, and overtook the
misery - and oh, how familiar you are, my contorted
friend; misery.
Murky waters, discolored by my emphatic emptiness,
the skies cry grey clouds and solicit a storm of
loneliness. A missing portion, the anarchy immense,
too few pieces to assemble any kind of static peace.
Echoed lullabies that creep my eyes to sleep. The
tears and dream land sobbing. A heart disabled by
the loss of a precious atom, it shifting from an
uncomfortable existence.
A flesh wound with a rusty silver scalpel, I
think certainly. Some out there would pray for my
sour, rotten soul. The madness in need of destruction.
The grass always fails to grow when the petals of
lifeless flowers fall and inevitably poison the land,
dismembering the hope of magic, that I no longer
believe to exist.
If only it grew like maggots, and overtook the
misery - and oh, how familiar you are, my contorted
friend; misery.
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