Silence ticks,
time to stop, thinking too much, what you know not. Conscious nightmares, subconscious, surreal, invisible, engraved; how to feel, not to feel. Potions toxic, traveled exotic, tainted tactics, narcissistic narcotics. Throw up the Guns, Germs, and Steel, walls and precepts, too. Contaminated commerce of affection, that if only time were true.
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Sharp pang,
spreads from within my chest. The fear of alienation, the fear of the forbidden, the fear of the truth. Chemical combination. It's strength pulling me in. Senses all around me, tensing from within. Warmth engulfs, my body though at ease. Confused which to listen to, the mind or a heart that tease'. To let go is to let in, to let in is to let go, one before the other, that of which no one knows. Sharp pang, spreads from within my chest. The fear of alienation, the fear of the forbidden, the fear of the truth. Emitting vibes,
airy and false. Rectify, rectify, innards turn and toss. Burrowing into depths, that of which cannot be reached. Cannot be heard, cannot be found, for it's too late, cannot be teached. You will hear, at least once, of a "blissful ignorance". Fear though, to discount, As pleasant Utopia may seem. For you and I will carry on, with such rare confidence. |
Sydne Kilberg"She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn't supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something." Archives
February 2016
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