Shadow of The Environment

Turning faces to the same old tune. Mix me a molotov or fly me to the moon. The pain stops here or it inflames. Playing games with the order we've had before. Same old score. The clichés run in here as you would expect. I've come to expect nothing less. 

It's in the shadow of the environment. Cancelled appointments - the list of disappointments. Remember all your disturbed teenage dreaming. It'll never work here. But simplicity was the spice that came with a price. Your face in the shadows. Lurking in every memory.

Spindly wires have you remembering every disturbed teenage dream. The spaces between friends gets bigger. Spatially enclosed, the nightmares make you remember phrases in other languages. Even in bad syntax you get the blues. Piranhas in the bathtubs. The perfect place to bleed for careless translation in transport.

The injections will stop the pain only for a while. In the end there's always another diagnosis. If only things were perfect, these memories wouldn't hurt so much. How they rip me apart until I lay down and fall asleep again. These days I only dream in braille but maybe that's for the best when it happens.

In the shadow of the environment, I turn to you and I let go.

Don't Bang The Drums

The shadows of time, the scenery of unkempt deciphers wittering on a scroll of shame. But who's to blame and who really cares? You're waiting in the distance with the time-honoured tradition. From sedition to sedation, the elation didn't last that long. It became a disaster that time has been unkind to. In discomfort, the lines have been drawn and there's no such thing as cabin fever. We were there, we understood. Time can't return - moving on to reap the rewards of a cruel outlook. But who are we to decide the rules?

Damage is done, ergo no fun. We speak in riddles before telling the truth. I'm a cryptic catastrophe living in unheralded infamy. Move along to the same song and everything will be fine. Don't bang the drums too loudly - you've never had it quite like this. Moving backwards for the sake of a societal collapse. Collecting traps that'll never fit - it's all very considered. You're next line starts here, to boost your earnings click here!

The ideology of a broken home from a broken system of a broken country. Magic starts elsewhere, you're allowed to fight. They'll look for excuses though, they always do. Nothing reminds you of futility quite like living in it. It just drives you to distraction because it's the only thing they can extract. It's happened before and will happen again. And we'll see the paranoia kick in at around about this time too. It's enough for some to join the Ted Kaczynski fanclub. Another mistake brought about by rotten greed.

Closing In On Traditional Middle-Age

Elicit dreams of guilt. A sense of something that runs on compassionate grounds. Ideals and thoughts along the faultlines of the decency of humanity. We seek, we dream a new religion but nothing washes away the stain of that feeling. The panicked feeling of being ignored. Muted out and drowned for good reason. The fight's not there and never will be. You can have it all if you turn away right now.

I wanted some company as misery only to make jokes and feel less alone. The feelings of idiocy linger long after the thoughts have subsided and accepted the unity of pain and go it alone. Moving to secrecy and leaving no one but themselves. The static burst and the dreams retreat. Live in grey solitude. The harmless wonder. You never wonder why your friendships are ruined and whether it has something to do with you. You shouldn't live your whole life feeling you've been put upon by the world.

After all you were so self-contained as a child, it's no wonder you were made to feel that something was wrong with you. Maybe there is but it's too late to care now you're closing in on traditional middle-age. These days only the cat's scrapes across your hands make you feel alive. Better to accept reality that you're more than half dead.

Broken and wounded, people aren't for you and you are certainly a joke to them. 10 years have gone by since it crippled you, no use in crying over proverbial spilt milk. Layers go by and the diagnosis will be come soon.

The Energy Vampire's Guilt

The guilt lingers on for things that were said. Outstay my welcome, I can't argue against how you view it. Isolate the idiot, there's no two ways about it. I just wanted someone to talk to but I must've been a drain. An energy vampire that needed the silent treatment. There's no need to say any more, you were right to do what you had to do.

Saliva's Spawn

In polite quarries to quarrel over time and nature.Your nature hippie vibe came with you in a tarot reading. Framing every other gesture as a threat of some sort, we had our best time while complaining on the way home. No wonder why we're so alone. Rickety wooden houses with glass structures, torrential rain to view from a VR Dome. Medicated on the past and the future playing at the same time. The consequences were never made clear. Saliva's spawn and the nature of regret.

You made it sound like the chance was looming. A modern romance so touching and blooming.

Midday yoga's interrupted as the cats come to sit on your face. But there are a million other ways with which the day could start and you're with your friends. Made space, made time - the chances are receding further. But I've got time to take my medicine. No time for squalor, no time for anything at all but the buzz words of a generation so lost in itself.

Could it be that by the forms of disease, I become a victim by certain decrees?

Photographing yourself getting older every day. The shade and filters of neurotic cigarettes, the token gesture of an anxiety attack. If I could have walked in the forest alone. To see what junk was left behind. The targets of many an escape clause come closer to make one feel good. To see you in that rickety old house way off in the forest. We are with time, a closing statement finalising deals for how our deaths will go. Small print, fine print - the legacies of greed we've left behind and still I wanted to feel like I had a chance to spin the wheel.

The next time you put on your disappearing act, let it be that your clothes are intact.

In The Shards of Our Past

With time that passed we line up again. Your legs take you only so far. Dream like sequences with blurred vision. New derision from calls made a thousand years ago. Or so it felt like when passion called and fashion had us sold in an embrace of acquaintances. I slowly make my dreams in the shards of our past.

New lives, new dawn, new ways to drown all preceding hope. Intercepting lives is just a phone call away. Living as a ghost with flesh and bone. New dreams to call your own. To call off when the time comes. The anxiety you induce privately, switches to publicly seduce all incomers. Remember the price that was paid while your health does the shimmies, the shakes and the jolts that come it.

Sell me a dummy and I'm your perfect fool - the pain in my body means I was practically worthless to you. I'm just exhausted in the art of pretences. Wallow in misery with a withering intensity. I alienate myself from everyone I ever talk to - and there are those who will do so before I say a word. Too much damaged goods, too many brave faces. I never could relate anyway....it's probably why I'm here in the first place.

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!