dull boy
01-31-2014, 04:00 PM
This nothingness I find is crushing. Ticks of time
rushing swiftly by ’til nothing sent survives.
Dusk and dimming light cover strips of bright
sunny blips of life with numbing tents of night.
Fronts and ends collide. Death; It seems so close,
I've been half asleep for weeks and my reflection sees a ghost.
Take breaths and breathe, but know I’ve left so leave a note.
I’m already dead. My flesh will grieve my soul.
Take steps and seem to float through life as quite unphased,
but it's not that I don’t hurt, I’m not alive to mind the pain.
I try and hide my grave and signs that I’ve decayed,
outline your eyes and trace my sigh a smiley face,
but find your smiles are fake and the dirt you’re in has buried
you beneath a tombstone. The earth’s a cemetery.
The words your lips are wearing are carried, etched and cast
as the last you’ll ever speak. Prepare your epitaphs.
The only purpose in life is the purpose to die.
Everything inbetween is worthless when time's
furnace has died. You’re history. The new
won’t remember me and you. We’re a memory, and who
living gives a hoot 'bout those a century removed?
No one. Know what? This misery is cute.
Epiphanies of doom. No afterlife’s are left.
Everything you do is just passing time for death.
rushing swiftly by ’til nothing sent survives.
Dusk and dimming light cover strips of bright
sunny blips of life with numbing tents of night.
Fronts and ends collide. Death; It seems so close,
I've been half asleep for weeks and my reflection sees a ghost.
Take breaths and breathe, but know I’ve left so leave a note.
I’m already dead. My flesh will grieve my soul.
Take steps and seem to float through life as quite unphased,
but it's not that I don’t hurt, I’m not alive to mind the pain.
I try and hide my grave and signs that I’ve decayed,
outline your eyes and trace my sigh a smiley face,
but find your smiles are fake and the dirt you’re in has buried
you beneath a tombstone. The earth’s a cemetery.
The words your lips are wearing are carried, etched and cast
as the last you’ll ever speak. Prepare your epitaphs.
The only purpose in life is the purpose to die.
Everything inbetween is worthless when time's
furnace has died. You’re history. The new
won’t remember me and you. We’re a memory, and who
living gives a hoot 'bout those a century removed?
No one. Know what? This misery is cute.
Epiphanies of doom. No afterlife’s are left.
Everything you do is just passing time for death.