Pain is a constant
Like the ticks of a clock
Counting out the agony of my existence
Without pain, there is no life
Or is there?
Is there an old shoe box in my brain
Where lies the faded picture of a better time?
I am afraid.
If I knew that others surf the wave that bandies me about like a sock in a dryer,
Would I stop swimming?
When others build castles from the sand that swallows me whole,
Does the Lifeguard care?
Does He even notice?
My salvation is a dream,
So I escape into the gospel of Beautyrest,
Where I place all my hope.
I am a creature of the night,
Dreading the sunrise when my clock ticks again
Living for the quiet, dark night to erase my pain, my memory, my tomorrow.
Is heaven just a state where we finally sleep for all eternity?
That is my greatest hope.
Because my shoebox is way too small.
And these waves are way too big.
And the sunrise, it keeps coming, no matter how many Ambien I load in my clip.
Waxing Lyrical
‘Tis true
Thou arte more fair than this high ridden morn
More enamoured of you ‘pon a suns corona
This heart beating is
And with mirth does it rise
Its resuscitation on a break-ed light
Bandies nought with shade
But cavorts thus on a mysteries wing
Flight of angels thou do become
By prescience more
And yea, shall I walk ‘neath a palladiums light
Twas seared in mine soul
Of her
No more fortune than this my soul desireth
‘Tis Ma’Lady
As she steeped ‘ont the lilly
Her pale foot stepped ‘pon penumbras edge
Trod she so, with delicate
And cast thus into this heart
And I betwixed eclipse
More enamoured of her than ‘pon the suns corona
This beating heart is
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