Tuesday, January 9, 2018

Perfect Nothings

I don’t believe that I’m insane. It’s a hallucination in my brain
who fought the dark assassin from my never
ending dream her eyes trained on torture to
 the screen as the whispers fade and the
 moments blur you watch me swallow
The Prozac melody of a medicated reality
my soul suffocating in endless insomnia

what I feel I know is that it was true
he seemed too clever to do bad things to you
with her body slowly rotting away in the cell
so then who was there to end the lie
Say goodnight and say goodbye.

We are real again, the girl can see us all
coming to once more before the fall of it all
as he had breathed heavily for more
And somehow he was overcome by a dead
 girl who came into the picture
To assist in the framework of a master.

Of a borderline genius
bound by anarchists the archetypes
the artist took my work too seriously
he never saw the rhetoric in this comedy
oh what irony…

of waging war on a destiny
It was the war you waged against me
and it was the war you waged him against
and still she slept in it’s torment
in euphoric lament
he slept surrounded by dizzy machinations
by her advice about everything unseen
loved by everyone unclean

and so they slept with her advice forgotten
but the whispers might keep on trying
all the struggle inside of her mind dying
well that’s not an issue I am not even trying

she was nothing but the engineer
of her own missionary role ; a sacrifice other than you could
picture the white world of fabrications undertaken by the
 few and there was nothing left but her, there you stood
where all the photographs had lined to well
and vanished; that they would allow their
 faces somehow to reappear in a play.

celebrate; celebrate the rape
and when its too late…your voice will dissipate into the nothings again I
keep screaming, keep dreaming inside
of the end because it’s too late.

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