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Bluelight Crew
- Joined
- Jun 10, 2017
- Messages
- 4,122
A new day is dawning on the city like a bad breath
and my anxiety bleeds through the tapestry
six hundred thousand feet stomp the city
to shambles and shales
in the darkness she reminds me of someone
someone I have always dreamed about
some nights the panic in her eyes becomes wildfire
in the flames I see her silhouette
and I'll pretend to be asleep
the air in our room is thick like a mouthful of raw meat
the shy morning sun finds the cracks in the blinds
eleven times the church bell screams after the god that left us
eleven times the church bell fills the city
with the sound of impending doom
eleven times, as if to say, everything born will be forced to live
small, small pupils stare back in the mirror
my emotions feels small,
too -
stunted,
he tells me that the dirt you carry is what holds you together
the man who became a thought that became a virus
the tram is full of people staring down at phones
all of them with the facial expressions
of second-hand mannequins
Reality corrupts us all, like sharp edges,
like the hidden pieces of glass on beaches
guts the foot
before they are dulled by sand and time
sometimes when I think back I remember everything
but I think I remember it wrong
I forget all the black days
I'd rather just remember when the sun shone
life requires masochist tendencies
or a penchant for sadism
it is filled with short, fleeting moments of joy
short periods of prosperity
and the persistent necrosis and atrophy
of our bodies, hearts and minds
the death of ideals
the air outside is polluted by opinions and thoughts,
by monuments built to praise predatory greed
and our petty thieving and dazzling folly
the river rumbles under the bridge as birds chirp
and like the wolves from Kremlin,
we descend
I collide with suit-adorned assholes, with nodding junkies,
Amnesty's slaves and I realize paranoia and madness
needs a crowd
a woman in a jaundice yellow parkas
wears Doc Martens with 20 holes,
blood red
she takes off her green cap
and on an overturned road sign,
hard-polished aluminum, she crushes a pill
and lines up the powdery roads to perdition
rush hour traffic roars past her two meters away
and a man has fallen asleep or maybe he's dead,
lying on the steps to a pizzeria filled with drunks and peddlers
two cops throws a man on the ground
as life progresses,
ruthlessly
and my anxiety bleeds through the tapestry
six hundred thousand feet stomp the city
to shambles and shales
in the darkness she reminds me of someone
someone I have always dreamed about
some nights the panic in her eyes becomes wildfire
in the flames I see her silhouette
and I'll pretend to be asleep
the air in our room is thick like a mouthful of raw meat
the shy morning sun finds the cracks in the blinds
eleven times the church bell screams after the god that left us
eleven times the church bell fills the city
with the sound of impending doom
eleven times, as if to say, everything born will be forced to live
small, small pupils stare back in the mirror
my emotions feels small,
too -
stunted,
he tells me that the dirt you carry is what holds you together
the man who became a thought that became a virus
the tram is full of people staring down at phones
all of them with the facial expressions
of second-hand mannequins
Reality corrupts us all, like sharp edges,
like the hidden pieces of glass on beaches
guts the foot
before they are dulled by sand and time
sometimes when I think back I remember everything
but I think I remember it wrong
I forget all the black days
I'd rather just remember when the sun shone
life requires masochist tendencies
or a penchant for sadism
it is filled with short, fleeting moments of joy
short periods of prosperity
and the persistent necrosis and atrophy
of our bodies, hearts and minds
the death of ideals
the air outside is polluted by opinions and thoughts,
by monuments built to praise predatory greed
and our petty thieving and dazzling folly
the river rumbles under the bridge as birds chirp
and like the wolves from Kremlin,
we descend
I collide with suit-adorned assholes, with nodding junkies,
Amnesty's slaves and I realize paranoia and madness
needs a crowd
a woman in a jaundice yellow parkas
wears Doc Martens with 20 holes,
blood red
she takes off her green cap
and on an overturned road sign,
hard-polished aluminum, she crushes a pill
and lines up the powdery roads to perdition
rush hour traffic roars past her two meters away
and a man has fallen asleep or maybe he's dead,
lying on the steps to a pizzeria filled with drunks and peddlers
two cops throws a man on the ground
as life progresses,
ruthlessly
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