duh...

there are times when the sounds in my head remind me of the distant fog
the way that it envelops the land far reaching
beyond the sea where the prisons are, behind the mountains
i sit in my little cubicle no larger then a meter by a meter
and i count those bricks one by one till i know their number to the whole
981 there are, if you discount that one on the window sill
and include that one above the door
but somehow I seem to have forgotten my reason for being here
i dont quite remember anymore
it was so long ago, and the darkness brings sleep
and sleep brings relief
but there is something I'm missing
something rather important
thats it, the key
i don't remember the haze, I don't remember much at all
all i remember is the little light shining in the window
thats gone now
i do remember the way that the sun reflects through my window
but its night, and well its not reflecting no more
shame really
so as i huddle in my little room, i leant on the door
only to find it swing open
suddenly it dawned on me
it wasn't some one that held me here...
it was me

damn, lost another pen

i sit and i watched
and i waited
biding my time by the hour glass light
and slowly count away the moments
until i can get what i want

i died a thousand times that night
slowly in the cold
shut out,
dejected
huddled amongst the corner
trying to hide away inside
looking back, reflecting
i would have changed it all

I stood back against the wall
counted to ten and blasted that son of a bitch sky high
watched the wall crumble behind me
then walked away without turning back
i knew from that moment i had finally achieved my goal
I knew then what i had to do
so i took me a pen and i wrote it down
shame i lost it

frets on fire

worry for your survival instinct
worry that the devil come
and if he does now
run away and hide
worry that death is friendly
worry about the sum existence of it all
fret that the end is coming
describe the dead in turn
maybe the sun is rising
maybe the darkness is still
but in the end all I've got is nil
i've got nothing left to lose

I had something worth fighting for
so i swapped it for a gun
I wrapped it round my fingers
and let go of all the sane
reality fought with nostalgia
death fought against life
the understated distance
that underscored the surrounding
left me thinking about such nonsensical whimsies like this
and i noticed a pattern emerging
what i had to lose i lost
what i kept to gain i threw away

worry about the deafness
worry about the time
worry about the sanity that eludes you
worry about the sun
worry about the cancer
worry about the darkness, when the sun refuses to shine
worry about the facts that create you
worry that they are true
worry about the ignorance that surrounds you
worry that it will take you
worry that in the end all you have to lose,
is worrying about the truth

holiday from a holiday

Irony: I'm on holiday, and i feel that i need a vacation...

coda

i like repeating.
same time, same place
everything
beautiful.
not

i hate it
i loathe it
i want to burn it down
i want to watch it fall to the ground
I want to know that when i jump on it
it will die

but no.
repeat
repeat
repeat

like words in a book
from the first line
to the last page
like time and again
seconds into minutes
hours into days
repeat
repeat
repeat

happy new year

sounds like a job for someone in a more stable state of mind