Who said I was crazy? Oh right, me. Don't take this to heart, don't pin it on anything, I'm just pissed. It means nothing.


Senseless

January 2nd, 2010

Who said words can't be emotion?
Who said words couldn't scream at you
and fucking tear you apart?
Who said words were only words?

When you pathetic little liars,
And your perpetually senseless words
call no familiar name to mind.
Who said I gave a fuck,
You liar, you freak, you stupid little….

Nothing.

Don't give me the excuse.
Don't give them a reason.

There's something about silence that beckons me forward,
To bad they can't keep their fucking mouths shut.

There's something about everything,
That drives me crazy.

I can't stand those perfectly imperfect pictures,
That working class system that fucks itself up,
The broken glass on the goddamn streets,
Reminiscent of blurry nights attempting to be someone else.
Pathetic.
I can't stand the way things work,
Fucking rules and manners,
Trying to be this, "I wish I could be that"
Peeling the thick layer of filth and stench off of the clean streets,
Kicking the garbage cans over,
Bending the guardrail,
Melting the windows.

It needs a good shine,
It needs a good makeover,
Needs a good structural reconstruction of decay and shit.
It needs to be burned, broken smashed and built up again,
All in the same night.

-

If the stars came falling, no crashing,
Down one day,
Who would they hit first?
Me? Or you.

-

You can sneer and snarl,
Turn your upturned face away,
Pretend like it's not existing,
pretend it's not burning acidic holes
through the thin plastic that is your guard.

And I can pretend, that we're not dying every day we live.
I could pretend that there is no irony,
And live like a fucking fool until I die.

I could live like a damned insomniac,
And push death a little closer to my grasping hands,
Tempt fate's greedy little box of hearts,
Tear the very thought of right, good, success,
Away from my whimpering mind.

The thoughts burnt on the cross,
Melting wax to seal these lips,
Threading needles to sew me in.
(a tomb of rotting silk)
They whisper.
But they never cry.

We all dare, we all try,
But the thought of daring to fail,
Rips the beating chords from my throat,
And leaves an open rancid gap,
Where my voice should have been.