Sunday, July 16, 2006

This motherfucking hope. This fucking hope in this crazy dream as the guitar strings circumsize your heart and you lay smearing the moonlight on your naked feelings. The fingers fail to move. Despair is holy. And the band is just killing you. Again the same old men you cant fucking get over. The same fucking dream you cant let go.

You happy now? I’m cut up, here under the drone of the heavy bass on my bed, my fortress besieged, suffocating from the thoughts that make me scream to stop suffering this silence. I’m not enlightened. I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to cry. This little boy hurts and I want him dead.

1 Comments:

Blogger peter pan said...

bugger let's have a tea, let's go to t3 and write. let's write together and kill ouorselves after that. but not before.

12:21 PM  

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