To Heal, To Dissipate Once More

The rain soaked image on the lawn has become us all. An object of despair and fleeting happiness. For what it is I don't envy much. We become victims of desire. Walk to the hilltop and make a wish. Run a marathon, walk a mile. The many secrets of our crooked smiles.

Speak in coda, the crimes of fidelity. Leaking in the image, the common presage. Reserve to preserve. She's not like you, she'll spin cobwebs from the faithful wounds your mind made many moons ago. And the memories remain, the ones that never happened or almost did. Your second life, the cover dial that made you feel old to her youthful allure. The elixir for which you could never own, never get near.

Had you the feeling of being one with nature, you would deal with healing your own sutures. The wreckage you caused, will erase over time and those will disappear in time. Emit the refracted tale of our love stories we fabricated for someone else's time. You could never make me forget my disease. I'm sorry you wished for an energy I didn't have.

To heal, to dissipate once more. What more could we want for staying like this. I feel rinsed from inside out. Never had the clout to be who I used to be. To be part of a medieval dream once more. To heal, to dissipate once more. What love once was, changes, slips away into the mists of time!

A Bundle of Anxiety

The disconnection resounds. How everything revolves. I am everyone's rejection. I've seen it all before. Your words can mislead a simple fool like me. To want something out of greed. I know you'd rather look away. I'd do the same if I were you.

Here lies the animal, broken, brittle and confused. The cliché lines in a lover's arms. Just like you to get into something you'd rather you didn't. Why do I feel sorry for the people who enter into the garden of pain and despair with me. Even if unwillingly. It's not like we do these things for free!

Masking tape, there's no escape. Whatever lies we've made before, I stupidly count the score every single time. I obviously give off the wrong vibe. I don't know how I can change that.

Run off on decoys, when I'm the one that destroys everything in sight. Nothing stays in light, you could kill me now and save yourself the misery from hanging on to a twisted mirror image of a forgotten time. 

A bundle of anxiety, a dress rehearsal for that heart attack.

And All I Ask (The Past Is Done)

The past is done, the morning resides. The years fall away, there's no desire left in me. A stubbornness lives on, nothing more. Pain accumulates. We don't live in the same scenario. I take what's left. The energy dwindles. Damaged to a crawl. Remote conversations keep me going. Maybe it's the identity I want to play with. Maybe I have nothing more.

You dream of nothing more than to sit in silence and get lost in images. To figure this thorn of broken desires. Feelings get thrown out of the way. Perhaps I just decided there was nothing left in me. I'd only be left in debt at the energy bank. Dreams are built differently these days. Passions play a part but you're known to drive people away with your demeanour. You're just like all your favourite songs - a broken man destroyed by life and someone who alienates.

Feels like there's nothing left. 20 years of further alienation compounded by grief and trauma. You believed in lies because they were all you had. Brief moments of happiness were tantalising but your health worries caught up with you in the end. The humming drone of death rumbling in your subconcious. How easy it feels to be loved. How lovely it is to love in return. Even when sabotage wants to play a part.

Front-on/Side-on views. I've lost the taste for appearances. I know the things I used to love always had an element of thrill and fear. Now there's only the fear of certain elements. And all I ask is for something else to take my place. All I ask is for something that doesn't get twisted by the selfishness of others. 

Whatever you need is gone - you have to make do with meagre reserves. The thought of an illustrious present and future nothing more than a cruel joke to laugh along with in secrecy. You're not the man you were 15 years ago. If only being morose could pay. But then what's the point in it all - nothing good would come out of it anyway!

And all I ask is a different world, a different identity, a different way of life - something to take the away the pain. 

The Ruins of a Faded Life

Along the echoes, past the icy shores. Dreams of a longing going unrequited. You made your bets and came up short. Here he is, the golden child. Seeking bitterness out of the ruins of a faded life. Bowing to the music from another temple. He dreams of iconic nights in a sheen of paper dust. Watch the film roll and watch it all burn.

Anxiety forms in the secret shadows, the faucet drips of a secret amnesia etching out familiar words to the former sacred mind. Disintegrating memories of compassion in a lifeless world. Business comes, business calls. Tomorrow's vendetta is last week's sense of dread. But hop in to think out for solutions in the week ahead.

If death was the answer, it would have been too good. After all, how fortunate it is for me to want anything at all.

Reign of Tormentors (No Life Back)

In an effort, what was it for? An open dream, that became empty! Demoralised by a ceaseless attack. When it becomes clearer that we're no nearer to making this better. Idealists can only go so far when perfectionists get overzealous. 

There's no life back anymore. There's no heart. There's no desire. There's no dream, there's no ideal. There's no life back anymore. Impotent rage is all there is misdirected at every stage. Doctors won't make you feel better. Take your medicine before they decide to change it. Underestimate every single thing because they who play god, calls the shots. 

Meditative music cures the buyer's lifetime remorse. Create an ambience that fuels a secret shelter. But this isn't definitive and it shouldn't really last as such. Forever moving the goalposts in an effort to save their skin but not yours. It doesn't matter if you try to talk about it, your words will be easily manipulated. After all you can't even be sure of yourself so why should they be sure that what you is true? Pure pressure cooker policy - it works like a charm!

When this reign of tormentors end, when the shoe's on the other foot, how will they respond? And what satisfaction will you have in witnessing via third-hand accounts?

At least when you die you can be ashes to ashes, dust to dust....

Life In The Dark

Don't reflect on the past they said. It won't help you along the way. Damages your health. Images are a perfect time capsule. A slight of hand to remember when the mind and the body are no longer in sync. You may be here today, but the memory that hurt you years ago still rattles with thorns with every turn.

I don't know where to go, I don't know how you feel. The empathies of charlatans to sell their wares under snake skin oil. Another tension in the light of past glories. If the supposed best years of your life weren't all that great, what use will the rest of it be? You had to deal with a stalker which turned out to be your own memory but she was there - that's so you!

If the light goes out, live life in the dark. Your denial will pay the price.

Mental Disintegration

You may know it all in the scene. The familiar drain that washes over your skin. I wondered why I live in dread when I feel as though I'm harassed at every turn. The mental disintegration was perfect. I could've cried like a child. You knew my weakness and exploited it after every loss.

Financial gain - it's always the same. Do we need to live in pain? The pills punch and kick. How come I missed a trick or two knowing you'd hide all there is. 

Haunted by flashbacks. 20 years of horrors. A controlling interest and a silly little boy who's ruined your projections. The mental disintegration was perfect. I could've died as I dialled. I lived in bahnhofs and dined on cheap chicken and pasta.

Where journeys go on pure voices if projections are to be believed. The time was spent - did you receive or deceive? Years alone and nestle through forests, woodlands and chimes. Remembrance is cruel but the torment is insatiable. You created replicas to dine on the feast of bad blood. Pretty soon I'll be bloodless but that's another story for another day.

Wasting time, wasting money, wasting away in conflicts of the past. Broken shards that splinter in secrecy. The mental disintegration was perfect as always. You knew my weakness and exploited it at all cost.