Awake, aware, alone. Lost and far from home. I walk without these walls. So there is less to fall. . I am naked. I have nothing left. My bones are picked clean.
I suppose in your mind you believe you were right. That the matter doesn't rest heavy on your shoulders. But be careful of the ones you wish to indict.
Awake, aware, alone. Lost and far from home. I walk without these walls. So there is less to fall. . I am naked. I have nothing left. My bones are picked clean.
Awake, aware, alone. Lost and far from home. I walk without these walls. So there is less to fall. . I am naked. I have nothing left. My bones are picked clean.
May you find solace in the gentle arms of sleep. Despite the wolves outside your door. In time you will see them all as harmless. And their idle threats easy to ignore.
Attenuate the light of day. So I can see the lines and details. And not the hazy, plastic blur. That floods my eyes till I can't see. . Let the wind erase me.
I stand in a barren void that's featureless. No sight or sound can penetrate at all. Though silent storms may try to tear me down. When dusk descends, I'll still be standing tall.
I forgive your weakness. In light of all this bleakness. You were merely human. Destined to be ruined. . Startled as your brevity. Turned to my longevity.
Words come easy. Behind a screen. When there's no interface-to-face. To be seen. . King of Insects. You eat your own. Atop an anthill. You call your throne.
Let me take the fall. Let me take the blame. Let me carry you from hell. To home again.. . Let me walk for you. When your legs are weak. Let me find the words for you.
Like a grain of sand. Swallowed by the desert. Like a drop of rain. That falls from darkened clouds. . I am overwhelmed. I stand here awed and humbled.
Words come easy. Behind a screen. When there's no interface-to-face. To be seen. . King of Insects. You eat your own. Atop an anthill. You call your throne.
Sifting through the ashes. With unsteady hands. Searching for the remnants. Of a broken man. . A history of hollow lives. And low ideals. A backlog of wrongdoing.
There have been times throughout my life. When I fell so far. I thought I'd never stand again. I watched my dreams depart. . These aberrations had their place.
Too eager to appease. The cure is the disease. And it's only growing worse. . Day by day it takes its hold. Divides its cells a thousandfold. And makes your blindness seem perverse.
Sifting through the ashes. With unsteady hands. Searching for the remnants. Of a broken man. . A history of hollow lives. And low ideals. A backlog of wrongdoing.
Be still. Though chaos rains around you now. Only so much rain can fall at once. Breathe in. And let the air envelope you. And slow but sure, serenity will come.
Hours. Spiral and coil into black. Some remembered, some forever gone. . Tragic. We never get them all back. The relentless march of time must still go on.
I've seen this face before. It somehow looks familiar. Tattered and weatherworn. A sad, pathetic creature. . And once you stood so strong. Your eyes alight with promise.
The ground is pulsing,. The pace is constant,. So unrelenting as the day goes forward.. . There's no escaping,. It's too incessant,. This only shuffle in the crushing boredom..