These days has become a black awful day when nothing is pleasing .
Everything happens around me is an excuse for anger and frustaion .
An outlet for emotions stockpiled, like arsenal .
These are the days when I hate the world, hate the rich, hate the happy,
hate the complacent, the TV watchers, beer drinkers, the satisfied ones.
Because I know I can be all of those little hateful things and ,
then I hate myself for realising that.
There's no preventative, directive or safe approach for living.
We each know our own fate.
We know from our youth how to be treated, how we'll be received, how we shall end.
These things don't change.
You can change your clothes, change your hairstyle, your friends, cities, continents
but sooner or later your own self will always catch up. Always it waits in the wings.
Ideas swirl but don't stick. They appear but then run off like rain on the windshield.
One of those rainy day car rides my head implodes,
the atmosphere in this car a mirror of my skull.
Wet, damp, windows dripping and misted with cold.
Walls of grey.
Nothing good on the radio.
Not a thought in my head.
Lets take life and slow it down incredibly slow,
frame by frame with two minutes that take ten years to live out.
Yeah, lets do that.
Telephone poles like praying mantras against the sky, metal arms outstretched.
So much land travelled so little sense made of it.
It doesn't mean a thing all this land laid out behind us.
I'd like to take off into these woods and get good and lost for a while.
I'm disgusted with petty concerns; dresses, breakfast specials, jobs ,carrier.
Does someone just have to carry this weight?
All bullshit.
The light within you shines like a diamond mine,
like an unarmed walrus, like a dead man face down on the highway.
Like a snake eating its own tail, steam turbine,soap bubbles in the sun,
hospital death bed, red merc, shopping list, being laid, deaths head, devils dancing,
bleached white buildings, memories, movements, the movie unfeeling, unreeling, about to begin.
I've seen your hallway, you're a darn call away,
I've hear your stairs creak.
I can fix my mind, on your yes, and on your no.
I'll film your face today in the sparkling canals, all red, yellow, blue, green brilliance and silver bright reflection.
All too real, you're moving so fast now I cant hold your image.
This image I have of your face by the window,
me standing beside you arm on your shoulder.
A catalogue of images, flashing glimpses then gone again.
Every clear afternoon now I'll picture you up in the air twisting your heel,
your knees up around me, my face in your hair.
You scream so well,
your smile so loud it still rings in my ears.
