manuscriptx
New Member
Just how much pain can you take? Where the joints lie, just below the finger or the knee, where nightmares come alive. If you walk inside my mind you will see three nodes of perception; morality's tale from within, death from above, and solstice in rhythm. The music is what gets to me most. Tears come down and I stop in place. Inside a dark and lonely place, cold and dry, able to see nothing and feel everything around me. Nothing gets lost, nothing is forgotten; all my sins remembered. So tell me, what does it take to murder a man? Does it take guts? Does it take heart and soul? Maybe it takes courage, maybe it takes grabbing the reigns of a dead Clydesdale and carrying it off to submission. Maybe it takes nothing at all; broken bones, noses, faces and jawbones, broken facial expressions of hate and anguish, uncontrollable thoughts and I wonder where does this come from? Why does this come? Like fountains in hot spring lost through the desert, spray-painted over a landscape like tiny sparkles of dust. They come for me during a time I'm most vulnerable, no one ever really knows when that is but it's near. Release; take your vivid imagination elsewhere because I have no use for you. I do not like your answer; I despise their sour grapefruit manifestations. A scattered thunderstorm much like my own thought is an explosive one that will come without warning labels. Built without parameters, regulatory levels or kill switches, when they do come, they eventually go. When they stay, they are never-ending eight hour bouts of absolute torture.
Where is the pain you seek? Is it numb; in the joint of your finger? The signal's there, you just can't find it. How long can you walk? Are you toenails dirty? Do you need a cart or motor scooter, because it's a mighty long way? The far side of tolerance never sleeps for one's imagination. It never halts creative force for one individual, let alone me. Like sparks through the night they let loose their energy until the last particle falls asleep. And when they do, they never notice me. I can walk up to one pillar of emotion and get lit up with bright sun bulbs, light shown from above. Don't think of Christmas, or Easter, or any of God's guilty pleasures. This is a nightmare I once said. This is a crossing over from between what's real and imaginary. The distinction between what I've done and where I go from here. Decisions have to be made and the only question I ask is which, how and when, where makes no difference, the why never matters to me; and the “who “is more of a what. It's me. It's always been me and it always will be me. Not anyone else, because this purgatory is my universe, a useful tool all my own.
Where is the pain you seek? Is it numb; in the joint of your finger? The signal's there, you just can't find it. How long can you walk? Are you toenails dirty? Do you need a cart or motor scooter, because it's a mighty long way? The far side of tolerance never sleeps for one's imagination. It never halts creative force for one individual, let alone me. Like sparks through the night they let loose their energy until the last particle falls asleep. And when they do, they never notice me. I can walk up to one pillar of emotion and get lit up with bright sun bulbs, light shown from above. Don't think of Christmas, or Easter, or any of God's guilty pleasures. This is a nightmare I once said. This is a crossing over from between what's real and imaginary. The distinction between what I've done and where I go from here. Decisions have to be made and the only question I ask is which, how and when, where makes no difference, the why never matters to me; and the “who “is more of a what. It's me. It's always been me and it always will be me. Not anyone else, because this purgatory is my universe, a useful tool all my own.