We were perfect once.
Then time wrapped its
carcinogenic fingers
around our throats.
Our lives faded
into glorious overtones
of bastard monochrome;
Creatio ex materia.
Shackled by demons
birthed from hope,
we writhed and cried
for freedom.
That word;
That glorious concept.
Those syllables
blood was shed for.
Freedom.
That bitter lie
which from birth
we fear.
"What do you do
when God is dead
and there are
no rules?"
Drowning in seas
of hours and minutes,
time erodes
our deepest beliefs.
Cancerous solitude -
a reminder of this.
I cling to my hopes,
my beliefs and truths,
like poisonous time
around my trachea.
Greyscale dreams
have strangled me.














Comments
--
Per aspera ad Astra
--
Silence is golden, but duct tape is silver!
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--
BT.
"The truth knocks on the door and you say, "Go away, I'm looking for the truth," and so it goes away."
Robert M. Pirsig
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle maintanance
--
Silence is golden, but duct tape is silver!
-----------------------------
--
You will come to hate and resent me [link]
--
Silence is golden, but duct tape is silver!
-----------------------------
--
"Reflected, in the eye of an angel, in the voice of a stranger, I hear a song of you." Willie Nile-Game of Fools
--
Silence is golden, but duct tape is silver!
-----------------------------
--
"Reflected, in the eye of an angel, in the voice of a stranger, I hear a song of you." Willie Nile-Game of Fools
--
Silence is golden, but duct tape is silver!
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