somewhere

[goodnitestar]

somewhere beyond the shuffle of all these mistaken letters, paper cut hands...somewhere in the trash piled to the brim, we seek out the mystery of why and when

i locked tight those perminent scars, desire held nothing but persistance. neither love, nor mercy did any to their own. just checks and balanced out targets shot down to a lifeless moan.

so now that gates lift from these warn in notches, i see the fragrance of the rose. petals falling from every pressed stream, tangled in nightmares and lost dreams..

when does the empty soul fill back to the brim, with every cup and bottle raised to endure this endless sin

somewhere beyond the choas of all these mistaken words. knife cut hands....somewhere in the dark we pile it to the brim, we seek out the mystery of why and when

life and death
the riddle and the wim

 

[plazma]

Fucking TIDY!

somewhere beyond the choas of all these mistaken words. knife cut hands....somewhere in the dark we pile it to the brim, we seek out the mystery of why and when

Man, if that doesn't sound like what my late night philosophical musings feel like, I don't know what does. You have summed up the feeling and mental atmosphere that compells us towards such questions in a very well worded and beautiful to read piece of writing.

Cheers!



-plaz out-