Seams,
01/02/03,
6:54 AM,
by rewired.
I'm feeling like a loner,
feeling like a stranger,
feeling like I've got to
twist myself into a pretzel
just to pretend that I can relate.
Trying to fill the endless gaps,
trying to mend together loose ends,
but I'm a part of my own web, it seems,
re-arranging my threads in confusing dreams.
Why can't we connect beyond this
putrid superficiality and these mundane, mindless practices?
Why can't you look as hard and deep
into me as I try and look into you?
I guess I'm faced with the
limitations of our communication:
it seems the noise between
the fault line is here to stay.
Teeth clenched in anger,
my head hurts from it's stretching,
but I've got to laugh at myself for expecting
myself, through my continuing efforts, to
stumble across some long lost, forgotten way.
You want nothing more than to masturbate your
mind and ego, as I seek to copulate with the dark of me.
You're left with a sticky, subjective mess and I
continually give birth to premature, esoteric,
leprous homunculi inner space babies.
We're from different worlds, it seems,
and all we've got between us is
miscommunications, misinterpretations,
manipulations and bold-faced lies.
I'll find myself through re-creating my shell and
you'll continue to laugh at me, find me a passing curiosity,
and forever question why I always ask why about everything.
And a part of me still half-hopes for a
steady and sturdy bridge where we can meet,
but these clouds will grow between reality and my hopes for a mutual understanding, or so it seems,
so I'll just re-make me on our eyes and learn to adapt
you'll just grow more confused, but I'm okay with that.
Just so long as I'm okay with me.
I've waited too long to see what I can be.
01/02/03,
6:54 AM,
by rewired.
I'm feeling like a loner,
feeling like a stranger,
feeling like I've got to
twist myself into a pretzel
just to pretend that I can relate.
Trying to fill the endless gaps,
trying to mend together loose ends,
but I'm a part of my own web, it seems,
re-arranging my threads in confusing dreams.
Why can't we connect beyond this
putrid superficiality and these mundane, mindless practices?
Why can't you look as hard and deep
into me as I try and look into you?
I guess I'm faced with the
limitations of our communication:
it seems the noise between
the fault line is here to stay.
Teeth clenched in anger,
my head hurts from it's stretching,
but I've got to laugh at myself for expecting
myself, through my continuing efforts, to
stumble across some long lost, forgotten way.
You want nothing more than to masturbate your
mind and ego, as I seek to copulate with the dark of me.
You're left with a sticky, subjective mess and I
continually give birth to premature, esoteric,
leprous homunculi inner space babies.
We're from different worlds, it seems,
and all we've got between us is
miscommunications, misinterpretations,
manipulations and bold-faced lies.
I'll find myself through re-creating my shell and
you'll continue to laugh at me, find me a passing curiosity,
and forever question why I always ask why about everything.
And a part of me still half-hopes for a
steady and sturdy bridge where we can meet,
but these clouds will grow between reality and my hopes for a mutual understanding, or so it seems,
so I'll just re-make me on our eyes and learn to adapt
you'll just grow more confused, but I'm okay with that.
Just so long as I'm okay with me.
I've waited too long to see what I can be.
