Subscribe
THIS ISN'T A BLACK/WHITE THING
THIS ISN'T A WRONG/RIGHT THING
NOT EVEN A RICH / POOR THING
OR A PEACE/ WAR THING
IT'S A LOVE / LIFE THING
IT'S A HIGHER / HEIGHTS THING
IT'S A LIVING / LIGHT THING
NOT A WINNING/FIGHTS THING
BUT AN OPEN/LIFE THING
LIKE AN OPEN/MIC THING
YOU'RE A LIVING SONG.
SING.
up ahead
up ahead
lights spinning down a tunnel of dizziness
and falling forward,
not falling but
falling
an unbreakable fall
but hopes of an unbreakable you
make for an unbreakable landing.
lights spinning down a tunnel of dizziness
and falling forward,
not falling but
falling
an unbreakable fall
but hopes of an unbreakable you
make for an unbreakable landing.
But if it ends in pieces,
then pieces it be
and if it ends at a begginning
the beggining will see
another me.
hope is kind
but only when you're hoping for something you know is true
and love is blind
but only when you're loving something not for you
go ahead,
I don't need to catch up with you there
don't wait,
Because I don't plan to
it's not that I can't run,
I've been known to be fast
but maybe I've already ran down that path
Our paths will cross 'cause hope is kind
But it's still sad, our love was blind.
Young American Gentlemen part II
"Oh, you mean the sniffly little fuck who's always walking around with a polka-dot hanky and talking about love? Yeah i think i know 'im."
Miss Carprenter led the way down the street to her brother's house.
She was always this pleasently charming to his guests, especially when in his nostalgic absent-mindedness would give people his mother's address. Also, it can be assumed, that that is why he lived on the same street he grew up on: nastolgia, what a horrible disease.
But Miss Carprenter had no symapthy for her brother, however diseased he might have been with the past, and hoped only that as soon as she reached eighteen she would be allowed to leave, anywhere off of that desolate street dripping with memories of past generations, perhaps even the entire town was infected by an addiction to passed times.
"The bones in my feet ache every time a storm is on it's way." The lanky Stranger told Miss Carprenter as she walked a good two paces ahead of him down the sidewalk.
"Oh." She didn't even bother looking over her shoulder or even feigning any interest. The cracks in the sidewalk were far more captivating.
"I say a storm's on it's way," the Stranger continued, "Because the bones in my feet hurt."
"Well the bones in your feet might take a job at the weather station." She stopped abrutly at her brother's door and turned to face the Stranger.
"Anan never told me he had a relative like you." the Stanger smiled. "So sweet, so full of life."
Miss Carprenter ducked out from under his rosey stare and ran home, all at once believing in hate-at-first-sight and wishing a storm would, come and wash that worm away; the Strange worm with the achy bones in its feet, and take it and flood it into the storm drain with all the other worms and flush it into the sewer and...and was it her imagination or did the bones in her own feet start hurting in each step she took?
Before she reached her door, a great storm enclosed around the subdivision, a storm to end all storms, a storm to pluck up houses like weeds and suck down buildings as if they were nothing more than intricate sand castles on an inland shore. And just before Miss Carprenter reached her door, it pulled her up on top of the heap of flotsam that the wind-current had created and set her there, safe and sound, all alone, with nothing but the past and a little thing called love woven in the threads of her dress and the charge of her beating heart to remind her of life.
She puckered her face as the sky turned blue and the sun shone down with no trees or buildings to thwart its rosey glare and she wiped her face with the back of her hand and laughed as her brothers old polka-dot hanky floated by her desolate island.
She should have cried and wailed at her desolate fate, but she could not, for now she was joyful joyful joyful, as only a dog knows how to be happy with the autonomy of their own spirit.
~MMF
Miss Carprenter led the way down the street to her brother's house.
She was always this pleasently charming to his guests, especially when in his nostalgic absent-mindedness would give people his mother's address. Also, it can be assumed, that that is why he lived on the same street he grew up on: nastolgia, what a horrible disease.
But Miss Carprenter had no symapthy for her brother, however diseased he might have been with the past, and hoped only that as soon as she reached eighteen she would be allowed to leave, anywhere off of that desolate street dripping with memories of past generations, perhaps even the entire town was infected by an addiction to passed times.
"The bones in my feet ache every time a storm is on it's way." The lanky Stranger told Miss Carprenter as she walked a good two paces ahead of him down the sidewalk.
"Oh." She didn't even bother looking over her shoulder or even feigning any interest. The cracks in the sidewalk were far more captivating.
"I say a storm's on it's way," the Stranger continued, "Because the bones in my feet hurt."
"Well the bones in your feet might take a job at the weather station." She stopped abrutly at her brother's door and turned to face the Stranger.
"Anan never told me he had a relative like you." the Stanger smiled. "So sweet, so full of life."
Miss Carprenter ducked out from under his rosey stare and ran home, all at once believing in hate-at-first-sight and wishing a storm would, come and wash that worm away; the Strange worm with the achy bones in its feet, and take it and flood it into the storm drain with all the other worms and flush it into the sewer and...and was it her imagination or did the bones in her own feet start hurting in each step she took?
Before she reached her door, a great storm enclosed around the subdivision, a storm to end all storms, a storm to pluck up houses like weeds and suck down buildings as if they were nothing more than intricate sand castles on an inland shore. And just before Miss Carprenter reached her door, it pulled her up on top of the heap of flotsam that the wind-current had created and set her there, safe and sound, all alone, with nothing but the past and a little thing called love woven in the threads of her dress and the charge of her beating heart to remind her of life.
She puckered her face as the sky turned blue and the sun shone down with no trees or buildings to thwart its rosey glare and she wiped her face with the back of her hand and laughed as her brothers old polka-dot hanky floated by her desolate island.
She should have cried and wailed at her desolate fate, but she could not, for now she was joyful joyful joyful, as only a dog knows how to be happy with the autonomy of their own spirit.
~MMF
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
