The hardest thing to do in life is to walk away. At least according to those who say it is. Walking away is a passive act of motion; flowing in a direction not directly affected by what follows closely behind. It’s like a river spring that flows open from a mouth in the mountain. It’s a slow trickle that slowly joins together with other trickles and soon come to form the river everyone knows. Walking away is like a newly formed river. But just like the water that flows in the river, walking away is not stoppable. You can’t stop walking away from problems once you’ve started walking away from even just one. It’s l
VERSE 1
Is this the life you really want?
Is it worth the price of the ring you bought?
Is it worth the senseless fights?
Do you have to do this every night?
Starting arguments for the hell of it
Your rage and tears are irrelevant
Does any part of you want to break up?
Is it time to dry your eyes and wake up?
CHORUS
El divorcio, el divorcio
It’s all over forever and now
El divorcio, el divorcio
There is nothing to smile about
No more holding hands in public
No more kisses that are sudden
No more passionate love making
When your heart is breaking
VERSE 2
Who was right or wrong all along?
Who’s to blame for this sorrowful song?
La
The Beast
In the darkened void I find myself falling. I fall without sight or sound to depths unknown. Within this void I hide but I am not alone. While there is no sound I can still hear its voice. Low and soothing like a lullaby from the lungs of a creature no one knows.
“I was too much.” It says. There is sadness in the words. A sad understanding of what I've become.
“You were sick...” It continues. Knowing the wrongs and setting them right.
I feel the void cradle me in unseen arms, cold yet warm. I am not alone.
“They told others, they could not handle my issues.” I mutter. My voice feels strange.
They say I'm better off without you,
but the pain proves that's doubtful,
call me what you want,
crazy, stupid, ignorant,
my attitudes belligerent,
going crazy,
always in a rage,
locked my heart away
in a steel cage,
it's the end of my story,
the last page,
you were my best days,
always paying for my
brain dead ways,
they same im better off,
never seeing you,
what can i honestly do,
crazy or not,
love is nothing without you.
Today, I
clutched your
ashes with seared
fingertips,
gathered them inside
of my trembling fist,
kissed your pale, dead lips,
and blew you far away
To the thousands of other
littered dreams
and broken stars
that glint like
fool's gold
at the bottom of
oceans.
Farewell,
my tarnished treasure
Dipping your brush of magic,
In colors of every shade-
The blacks and grays of havoc;
With every stroke, they fade.
An outline of cognizance-
Filled with splashes of heaven;
Easing my somnolence,
Willed by flashes in question.
You paint, you splatter,
Across the walls of my heart.
You say it won't matter,
No losses fall from us apart.
Watching your every move,
As you wash away the mistakes-
Careful, as if something to prove,
You brush over, giving it all it takes.
Falling in love with your design;
Sitting back to look and admire.
Though your dreams are benign,
You throw this picture to the fire.
I sit and stare; left behind,
What it is,
Come to the realisation
That there is no self inside yourself
Flickering cheap candle flame
Numerous monoxides clinging
To the static fringes of earth’s plane
You taste the notion of many dimensions
A thousand spirits, little smokes
That pull at the membrane of reality
Penetrating the viscous walls.
I don’t need anything, you say
I don’t need anything, I say
There is no ‘I’ in the centre of the void
There is no left side or right side
There is only the taste of tablets
Bargain Stoli and not sleeping.
Count the constellations on your body
Learn to disassociate the self from itself
Split hairs and conquer time
On t
That Starting Over Thing by FountainsOfMars, literature
Literature
That Starting Over Thing
I need some paint
to decorate
the caverns spacious
in my brain
where things once made sense
where things once made sense
I need some frames
just to encase
the words salacious
I can't tame
that make things so intense
that make things
Toy with the notion of imploding
The idea of a thousand thoughts exploding
Synapses given contradictory messages
The mind evincing human weakness
How can you be certain that you are human at all
When destruction is imprinted in your blood
And you spend every waking hour searching for a fix
Imagine how it would be to be born again and free
To brush off the empty hours, wash away unworthy hands
It isn’t in the cards she said, laying out the cups and swords
All that is left for you, vagrancy and words
Do you want to begin again when you recoil at the call
The idea of relinquishing your only means of escape
Facing the day without a crutch h
A solitary note calls out
To a barren black shore
When the day is lost
Crooning, over the waves
This melody seeks for me
Where the nightmares lurk
They are swift to vanish
At the harbor’s faint cries
That urge me to wade
From the reddened glow
Of endless reeling
The frost loomed over the green fields of my dads Kentucky farm as I walked quickly over the long pasture. This Saturday like the rest I was headed to Ed Miller's store. I crossed a few creeks and the long abandoned saddle creek bridge that a car had not crossed in many years. Old Miller's store came into view after another half an hours walk and I gazed at the run down cabin of a store. Ed Miller had run the store since the 1940's and although his services were no longer needed he kept the place for kids like myself to get a bottled soda and to have a place for old folks to sit around and talk.
I heard the rattling window unit buz
I sometimes slip and falter between the perceptions of my own futility Searching for answers buried beneath the ash of yesterday while remaining where I once started knowing I'm capable of so much more But stuck in the notion that more is just more to lose
He wore a thrifted suit and a manic grin
Pupils dilating eyes widening gritting
And dusting off his big threadbare lapels
Smoking proudly as a Valentino prototype
Toying with the Jerusalem cross round his neck
He said a number of disconcerting things
Touched on the subject of Us and Them
Once, twice, making all sorts of vain promises
The light was lavender through violet curtains
Not soft and pretty but more like club lights
And my mind went there briefly thinking of
A.J. the Great and his penchant for generous sharing.
But he, this other he looking at me with his mothballs
And his expectant grin and his eyes alight and his craziness
Was a sa