|
So Apropos
Saw death on a sunny snowFor every life, forego the parable. Seek the light, my knees are cold. (Running home, running home) Go find another lover; To bring and- to string along. With all your lies, you're still very lovable. I toured the light, so many foreign roads For Emma, forever ago. |
|
|
about art.
Art is what you can get away with.
tagboard
affiliates
bridget.carine. divinia. jieyang. gabby. michelle. monica. muk. patricia. sara. wendy. PLAYLIST twitter
credits
Design: doughnutcrazyIcon: morphine_kissed Do credit accordingly if you changed the icon. |
lament-lations
Falling slowly, eyes that know meAnd I can't go back Moods that take me and erase me And I'm painted black You have suffered enough And warred with yourself It's time that you won Now and then you look inwards, and read the scars. You feel a little melancholic, a little older, perhaps wiser, but then again you're never entitled to say so. If you're honest enough, you'd say that you feel a little sad thinking about the things that you go through, then backtrack and realize you're one out of a million people, most of whom would be glad to argue how much more they've gone through just to make themselves feel more comfortable with their own scars. We treat our wounds like battle wounds, but most of the time we're not really fighting. We're just caught on momentum, so addicted to life that we can't stop getting high on it, watching shapes and colours turn into the faces of loved ones and the prospect of a future. We're addicted to hope, that something new is always up ahead. We always say we're going to give up - but really, it takes courage to pull your feet to stop. So when is it that we can finally say we've been hurt enough? That we can tell God to give us a bubblewrap to wear for the remainder of our days? When is it our turn to win the war, any war? I love the line in the song "Falling Slowly" that goes moods that take me and erase me, because honestly they do. They wipe me colourless, till my tears fall through an endless void, and all you hear are just heartbeats, pumping biological blood through a biological heart. The mind is in the skull and the heart is in the chest, separated as it is meant to be, and I lie open to the world and its noises, a pawn on a checkerboard. I think I'm just ranting, so I'll stop here and say goodnight. Well, goodnight then. |