Play
Oh the things time does to you
woe is I, believing in nostalgia.
Looking at what I think are layers of traces
when it's just my old shredded faces.
Desperate for 'change',
that strange attractor
of evolution.
November 26 is around 0:48
our depth is just numbers in time.
The thing silence
has done to you
it made you think that
now you can speak more than
gibberish, more than nothing.
Record
How else shall capture what is yet to come?
Aren't you one with the Madness?
Sanity changed me into the Insanity.
Certain crashes feel like
heights, and yet, we are constant.
Always, even under the rain whom
never has been on our side.
Green is the sky
elated and intoxicated, forever
divine, even if we could see it not.
Pause...
Stop.
For this living matters not.
For this record is all lost.
Even after giving it all you've got.
We plant and raise corpses now,
for we finally recognize
that even after death
even after the driest farewell
the flowers will sprout
and the law will not change.
"What's done is done"
you say, even though
what's done is yet to come.
Rewind.
Play.
Play.
Play.
Silence.
All this time...
it's been on erase.
The memories forcibly pulling away
from your grip as they chant:
"we are all the same
and that will never change."
___________________________________
This is sort of a part II to EvanesceOurRain 's submission, hence the incomplete title. It's been such a joy to write something with her once again. I do hope you find it so too.
YOU ARE READING
Mabye if I Fall Asleep I Won't Breathe Right
PoetryRelying on possibility, slumber, and the unknown sweet demise of death. This book is a collection of poems that are unrelated but as a whole struggle to portray the meaning of the title. Through my distorted vision, a lot of things might seem disjoi...
