It all comes out.. In monstrous wonders of color.
Like rain to a flame and light to a center of being.
Like all the words in the world that have never been said, because they couldn’t.
The tears that fell from a weary man’s eyes into the ground of a new born plant.
Over the underestimation of all that never were.
There is something, they all have in common..
There is love.
I cannot accept a decent ending.. But I have accepted my death.
Death with reassurance that I will live on as the living do.
As that is all they have ever done.
Bothered by the fundamental rules of having to be here.
Wanting, or not, you live on with the torch of your self in hand.
And there is something, you all have in common.
You are love.
I have given myself up as I have drawn out
the sickness of my heart onto the entire canvas.
I could dig no deeper into my wounds.
If I lived on to be immortal, I would still be immature.
I cannot stop and I will not stop,
for I am human and there is more
than the murky swamp of the undertow of society holding me back.
The broken pieces of the soul have been mended together
and are here, always, as a representation
of how sad the reality is.
Something I have always had in common
I am love.
Like rain to a flame and light to a center of being.
Like all the words in the world that have never been said, because they couldn’t.
The tears that fell from a weary man’s eyes into the ground of a new born plant.
Over the underestimation of all that never were.
There is something, they all have in common..
There is love.
I cannot accept a decent ending.. But I have accepted my death.
Death with reassurance that I will live on as the living do.
As that is all they have ever done.
Bothered by the fundamental rules of having to be here.
Wanting, or not, you live on with the torch of your self in hand.
And there is something, you all have in common.
You are love.
I have given myself up as I have drawn out
the sickness of my heart onto the entire canvas.
I could dig no deeper into my wounds.
If I lived on to be immortal, I would still be immature.
I cannot stop and I will not stop,
for I am human and there is more
than the murky swamp of the undertow of society holding me back.
The broken pieces of the soul have been mended together
and are here, always, as a representation
of how sad the reality is.
Something I have always had in common
I am love.
