Syd I. In the place we lived when we were young, I never had fun. I painted these days in chaotic colors compared to Cambridge, in a slow stride down to Cromwell Road. I know what is going on, trust me, my eyes are words in bright oil lights, looking right through you. A little off-hand, I do not deny your request, for I cannot say no. It means a lot for you to think of a place for me to stay, but I digress, there are much better things to do. II. Look between the lines and into my violet eyes, as deep as my dreams in depth, the stage twelve lines relate to the theme separate from my crazed insights only I comprehend. In a circular haze of situations, conscious questioning in every action committed in a nervous breakdown amongst the stars. They are all out to get me, they are pounding down my door, for every day is different and everyone is the same. Coming and going, I get up, eat, go for a walk, sleep. Oh, you know, just the routine. III. I am a gobbing candle, snuffed out never to shed light upon the words spoken across an abstract surface so out of place, can you even gauge my feelings? No! You have no word, no sense of direction except that’s me, you see, I’m really totally together I even think I should be. Held up by the hands who dragged me to the stage, have I anything to say? All my inspiration is gone, along with my empty book of songs. Just lock me up in a cold, dark room, and I am sure I will be quite alright.
Posted on: Fri, 01 Aug 2014 01:29:29 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015