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Cottonseed
Mar. 12th, 2011 04:09 pmI'm a machine - pumping out these words while the instruments of my mind turn, digest, lock and release only to start up again.
They work overtime and seek only answers from all spiritually based science; of love and life, of the complicated workings of the here and now, both inside and out.
Naked in the yo-yo of life, I hear our voices, limited. Shrieking at the aftermath of our own destruction - we melt like candles, coil up like springs too rusty to bounce back.
Masochistically breaking down the only thing that can hold us together - we are not of the same team, but enemies of our own keep. And we keep nothing, just as nothing keeps us.
Ignorance is bliss and the only green that grows is naivety.
This, the apocalypse of soul
dueling our failure
to unplug.
They work overtime and seek only answers from all spiritually based science; of love and life, of the complicated workings of the here and now, both inside and out.
Naked in the yo-yo of life, I hear our voices, limited. Shrieking at the aftermath of our own destruction - we melt like candles, coil up like springs too rusty to bounce back.
Masochistically breaking down the only thing that can hold us together - we are not of the same team, but enemies of our own keep. And we keep nothing, just as nothing keeps us.
Ignorance is bliss and the only green that grows is naivety.
This, the apocalypse of soul
dueling our failure
to unplug.
