Examined.
Inner levels of emotable essence: of anger, of hatred, of rage - all rising, rising, re-rising. How could someone - but how can someone. Better, why would someone.
Called a friend. Called some-when, maybe a companion. Even said-goal aimed at called fair, just, right - or all of the above. But it's all wrong.
Malicious. Self absorbed. Brainless, foolish - a mockery of the house you hail from. A simple, self-centered trite idiom for humanity's sake that maybe was once a good-meant person...long ago, if from the beginning.
Now, a rotten tree with rotten branches and rotten blooms and rotten roots. A spoiled harvest made from cold ice covering the crop where once, I think, a few tender shoots might have grown - given the right amount of chance. But since, nothing but a barren wasteland. Nothing but a desert full of vulturs and rats' tails. Nothing but an overheated engine in the middle of the Sahara.
Spiteful, bitter markings from a poisoned soul and an abandoned heart. Nothing but chill wind and desolate stone steps leading up to a broken-down ruin of a castle that once was.
Photographs in black and white, brown around the edges - with all the rememberable faces burned out. Hollow images with nothing to offer but the blackened age that bears them up.
Bitterness under feigned foolishness. Selfishness hidden under acts of random senselessness. And a mission to only find what next will make life feel less and less like itself. The folly of a fool who seeks to numb away the pain of his own existence. Broken down ways of a self-seeking rabbler with nothing more to gain.
In the end, it doesn't take too much to see. Count up the losses, weight out the costs. See if the marker balances - and if it doesn't, do it all over again until trace after trace after trace of the better you is gone to the wind, until all of it is utterly spent. Then find a place in the darkness to lie down your head, groping around for a place to find the wisdom or the solace that you long pretended not to know.
Honesty or no honesty- still an incomplete creation. Kind or unkind - still depraved, delusional, and deceitful. A malicious maelstrom wreaking despair in all the souls found to touch with despicible claws that tear the centres out of innocent hearts. Foul fool of folly mixed with intentional destruction of others that don't seem significant.
Yet come one day - the wheel will turn against you; the days will wane shorter - the stone cold winter will come. And the wheel will turn against you.
-RK
Called a friend. Called some-when, maybe a companion. Even said-goal aimed at called fair, just, right - or all of the above. But it's all wrong.
Malicious. Self absorbed. Brainless, foolish - a mockery of the house you hail from. A simple, self-centered trite idiom for humanity's sake that maybe was once a good-meant person...long ago, if from the beginning.
Now, a rotten tree with rotten branches and rotten blooms and rotten roots. A spoiled harvest made from cold ice covering the crop where once, I think, a few tender shoots might have grown - given the right amount of chance. But since, nothing but a barren wasteland. Nothing but a desert full of vulturs and rats' tails. Nothing but an overheated engine in the middle of the Sahara.
Spiteful, bitter markings from a poisoned soul and an abandoned heart. Nothing but chill wind and desolate stone steps leading up to a broken-down ruin of a castle that once was.
Photographs in black and white, brown around the edges - with all the rememberable faces burned out. Hollow images with nothing to offer but the blackened age that bears them up.
Bitterness under feigned foolishness. Selfishness hidden under acts of random senselessness. And a mission to only find what next will make life feel less and less like itself. The folly of a fool who seeks to numb away the pain of his own existence. Broken down ways of a self-seeking rabbler with nothing more to gain.
In the end, it doesn't take too much to see. Count up the losses, weight out the costs. See if the marker balances - and if it doesn't, do it all over again until trace after trace after trace of the better you is gone to the wind, until all of it is utterly spent. Then find a place in the darkness to lie down your head, groping around for a place to find the wisdom or the solace that you long pretended not to know.
Honesty or no honesty- still an incomplete creation. Kind or unkind - still depraved, delusional, and deceitful. A malicious maelstrom wreaking despair in all the souls found to touch with despicible claws that tear the centres out of innocent hearts. Foul fool of folly mixed with intentional destruction of others that don't seem significant.
Yet come one day - the wheel will turn against you; the days will wane shorter - the stone cold winter will come. And the wheel will turn against you.
-RK
3 Thought(s):
Bleak.
examination, thought, and analysis will often do that to a person.
I'd have to say... She's right.
Post a Comment
<< Home