Wednesday, September 5, 2012

the fifth.

fall in through the ceiling
search the rooms for meaning
when the rain has made no sound
upon the walls
the pulses pound
and common decency has died
the funeral march has long since gone
and i don't feel the urge to cry
nor can i seem to shuffle on
all of these feelings bleed
the knife has twisted
i'm the fool
trying to keep my hopeful heart
within a world where minds are cruel
ungrateful hands just steal and beg
manipulate the veins for more
and taking love in vain
and we're just left here on the floor
crumpled up like dirty clothes
when we know we're worth far more
than the sound of brokenness
and the crash of slamming doors
and the hoard of snide remarks
and remorse only if caught
conclusions jumped to in my brain
wisdom waxes and it wanes
play the scripts over again
try to find myself to blame
and hyper-ventilate to sleep
from the nightmare wake to weep
remind myself, as i'm bled white
in all the small things, to delight
lord, i'm weary of the fight
turn these violent wrongs to rights
i'll write it down and read it back
let it sink into the cracks
calm me down, don't let me fall
sliding slow down the painted wall
calm me down, mend this heart
reconstruct what's come apart

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