My mind is strained at the ability to produce words that would evoke emotions leaving thoughtless blathering splattered on empty pages.
My life is a disheveled disconnection. I've been severed into pieces that are dying a laggardly death. There is no connecting what no longer exists. You can't resuscitate the deceased.
A life languished of enervated meaning.
I use to write of longing to be listless like a rock. I envied it's inability to think and feel. Now my days are numbered with the desperation of attempted recoveries of human perception.
I've become a defunct soul smothered by the thickets of gruesome moss.
A moss that's density has a strength of a thousand men.
A moss that's density has a strength of a thousand men.
Music's become loud erratic noises spewed through speakers. Spoken words sound greek. There's a understanding of their definition but no comprehension of where they're derived.
What use to intrigue me only faintly turns my head. I'm often lost within science, mathematical equations and intellectual subjects.
I speak of politics, medical discoveries and worldly events. I seek being told of others emotions in hopes that through them I can feel.
My writings are a bland infusion of monetary dialect that lacks vivid color.
When moving and breathing have become the only means of existence then the foundations of life are lost. My foundation is of dust and stone. Hard, cold and lifeless. My feet are barely standing among the rumble and shambles of a hazy past.
I only watch the calendar pages falling as I quietly formulate the infrastructure of my final breath.
Inhale. Exhale. Thump. Thump. Thump. ....... silence.
"Too much patience,
No resistance,
Within shouting distance,
You can hear a blind man's bluff,
Dragging names through the mud and still bitting his tongue,
The devil's in the air and I'm spitting out prayers,
While the ravenous all eat their fill,
Tell me, tell me a story,
Tell me not to worry, or pick up the phone,
So turning, turning a deaf ear,
So that I don't hear them throwing stone,
Too much hogwart,
Not enough hearsay,
Always made the front page,
You could use a fine tooth comb to get a word from the wise,
Would be a welcome surprise,
Keep an ear to the ground so to drown out the sound of the failures that make me whole,
Tell me, tell me a story,
Tell me not to worry, or pick up the phone,
So turning, turning a deaf ear,
So that I don't hear them throwing stone,
These walls don't talk,
Even when somebody knocks,
These walls don't stand,
For anyone else but themselves,
These walls don't fall,
Even when gravity's failing us all "
No resistance,
Within shouting distance,
You can hear a blind man's bluff,
Dragging names through the mud and still bitting his tongue,
The devil's in the air and I'm spitting out prayers,
While the ravenous all eat their fill,
Tell me, tell me a story,
Tell me not to worry, or pick up the phone,
So turning, turning a deaf ear,
So that I don't hear them throwing stone,
Too much hogwart,
Not enough hearsay,
Always made the front page,
You could use a fine tooth comb to get a word from the wise,
Would be a welcome surprise,
Keep an ear to the ground so to drown out the sound of the failures that make me whole,
Tell me, tell me a story,
Tell me not to worry, or pick up the phone,
So turning, turning a deaf ear,
So that I don't hear them throwing stone,
These walls don't talk,
Even when somebody knocks,
These walls don't stand,
For anyone else but themselves,
These walls don't fall,
Even when gravity's failing us all "
-Tall Tales Taste Like Sour Grapes -Fair to Midland
