UntitledThey dream in colorUntitled by theobsolescentmind
each moment wrought in a myriad of rainbow bliss
but we are not them.
Our dreams are born of word and rhythm
Our hearts are won and lost by rhyme
each word trancending thought and time.
Overcoming the bonds of reality
thoughts and images spun like silk
drifting aimlessly through the void
stealing traits from all they pass through
the light of stars and the color of thought
creating a world as old as time
yet all is fresh and new.
These words are memories, thoughts, dreams;
all the things we wish to forget,
and everything in life worth remembering.
The secret life of artArt never diesThe secret life of art by theobsolescentmind
And here it is for all to see
Stretching into eternity
Past and future; bits of souls sold and traded away
Most of them done for free
In the same old room you've always known
With pictures plastered to the walls
Pencil, oil, and colored chalk
Alive with every imperfection you tried to erase
Waiting to leave this wretched place
And take on new lives of their own
Grey WingsI dreamed I was a butterflyGrey Wings by theobsolescentmind
with plain wings all in grey
I flew off toward the sunrise
to greet the coming day
and I knew then my life was short
My beauty- it was dying
Darkness closed around me
Old time was still a flying
Memories of the life I'd lived
were fading from my sight
No one cared, I was alone
Just sailing through the night
I chanced upon a windowsill
and a strange thing I did see
a young man restless in his sleep
The window was closed, yet still I heard
his pained and sickening cries
The thought of demons haunting him
brought tears into my eyes
I wished that I could dull his pain
or kill his agony
but I was just a shadow
left with no beauty
I watched him twist and struggle
until at last he lay still
completely unaware of me
watching from the windowsill
The night was filled
with winter's chill
and still I sat
on that windowsill
and watched him sleep
I don't know why,
but this was where
I planned to die
He woke up just before the sun
and opened the window fo
Inside a silent room my weather like heart stoppedThe fever in my bonesInside a silent room my weather like heart stopped by grew-up-a-screw-up
Is restless and my breaths
are raspy and ragged
As my lungs fold in upon themselves
Inhale. Exhale. Repeat
You ask me how I am
The rock pool blue of your eyes
Glance at the sleeves in which I have buried my heart
Knuckles folded deep into my thighs
My fucking hands always give it away
I grasp for a rope and am met with blurring synapses
Trauma settling itself into my collar bones
I tell you how last night I was contemplating Greek mythology
While caught between a rock and a bottle of Paxil
I think I saw heaven hiding behind my alarm clock
It turned out to be the afterglow of street lights instead
defeatheredand this is where we bury our hearts,defeathered by intricately-ordinary
between self-defeating personality disorders
and burnt bridges and midnight ramblings
we promise ourselves aren’t true;
embedding our memories in forsaken homes
like it is a conscious decision to shed
our wings (reptiles don’t fly)
and maybe I am the monster of every
myth: wide-eyed and jagged toothed and
looking to regain a piece of myself the
world borrowed, many moons ago
as I falter and stumble over my own unaware
feet, wreaking havoc, reeking of self-acquittal--
all I ever wanted to do was belong.
dreams are flaws much like the hearts we
flaunt on our sleeves, and I seem to
have lent all mine away; I am
something entirely ignorant, in the dark,
believing fingers fumbling can find answers.
they never told me reflections are backwards
and the world spins the wrong way and
hurricanes are really an embodiment
of all our own withdrawals:
but one day, these walls will crumble,
and I will learn to breathe in dust.
JuggernautsJuggernauts 10/04/12Juggernauts by PangCake
Built to take pain, and quick to recover,
Walking like tanks, stepping over, and over.
Resisting with their every inch,
Taking blows without a flinch.
These are the juggernauts, built for pain,
Laughing in defeat, just to do it again.
Masochists to the cruel ebb of emotion,
Like cliffs against the wave of the ocean.
We stand tall and proud, in the line of fire,
We smile at harshness, from birth to the pyre.
Unstoppable with guns or sharpest of knives,
Practised resilience through all their lives.
Wounds hurt, but wounds do heal,
To get back up with a will of steel.
Every cut becomes easier to bear,
Every stab makes me a little harder to tear.
To outside eyes, seemingly invulnerable,
Oblivious to things that are inevitable.
Someday the juggernauts will feel too numb,
And not to pain, but to their bodies succumb.
One shot too many, to topple the tower,
One stab too many for the juggernaut's power.
But will we see that day to come?
The rock that trips the jugge
I've got a million words and nothing to say.|
It doesn't matter anyway,
But I'm schizotypal so you'd best beware
I'm crazy, I'm sick, and I'm unlikely to care.