Post by Cherise on Feb 14, 2004 14:19:30 GMT -5
[ i wrote this in my diary. xD and for some reason, i liked it. so. yay. ]
sometimes you slip.
and there's nothing but a multitude of colors.
like being trapped in a prismatic wonderland of torpid confusion.
tap on the glass.
throw a rock in your glass home.
see if the walls shatter.
bursts of alabaster light.
stumble over your own two feet and then struggle with the darkness below.
there is no adjustment.
white on black, black on white.
did anything really matter?
dazed, incoherent memories filter through your irises like a faded old movie you have not played in years.
cease.
the sepia pages of a withered book turn by themselves and murmur ideals of facism.
and that's ok. because everything makes sense.
well.
in your mind it does, anyway.
but when did my thinking ever relate to your own?
you're so foolish.
how i'd love to crack you out of your crystal prison of contained wonderment.
could you survive in the real world?
or would you just clutch onto the broken shards of time past?
i think you would do the latter.
and i'd love to see you try to adjust.
close one door, open the next.
didn't you believe me when i said that nothing really matters?
that the sky is falling and not a moment too soon?
and you laughed.
and you scorned me.
and guess who's laughing now.
your prismatic world is cracking.
and I'm stalking the perimeter of the glass, watching you stir within your facade of walls,
becoming alert of the flaws.
your flaws.
i love to see you succumb due to lack of will.
come on.
claw against the interior.
rake your finger nails down the slick glass.
view your terrorized reflection in your see-through defense.
and if you can look past it
look past the cracks
the scars
the scratches
the chips
the breaking pieces,
you can see me.
i am smiling at your immolation.
fall.
for me.
fall just for me.
i want to see you grapple with oblivion.
and i want to see your pretty face become bloodied with the tearing links to your past.
only then
when you're lying face down
in the bottom of the bottle
and you are bruised
cracked
scarred
scratched
chipped
bleeding
bloody,
and all hope is lost.
i want you to look up.
and look into my eyes.
and then tell me that you know me.
you
will
never
understand
me.
until you are me.
the sky is falling and not a moment too soon.
sometimes you slip.
and there's nothing but a multitude of colors.
like being trapped in a prismatic wonderland of torpid confusion.
tap on the glass.
throw a rock in your glass home.
see if the walls shatter.
bursts of alabaster light.
stumble over your own two feet and then struggle with the darkness below.
there is no adjustment.
white on black, black on white.
did anything really matter?
dazed, incoherent memories filter through your irises like a faded old movie you have not played in years.
cease.
the sepia pages of a withered book turn by themselves and murmur ideals of facism.
and that's ok. because everything makes sense.
well.
in your mind it does, anyway.
but when did my thinking ever relate to your own?
you're so foolish.
how i'd love to crack you out of your crystal prison of contained wonderment.
could you survive in the real world?
or would you just clutch onto the broken shards of time past?
i think you would do the latter.
and i'd love to see you try to adjust.
close one door, open the next.
didn't you believe me when i said that nothing really matters?
that the sky is falling and not a moment too soon?
and you laughed.
and you scorned me.
and guess who's laughing now.
your prismatic world is cracking.
and I'm stalking the perimeter of the glass, watching you stir within your facade of walls,
becoming alert of the flaws.
your flaws.
i love to see you succumb due to lack of will.
come on.
claw against the interior.
rake your finger nails down the slick glass.
view your terrorized reflection in your see-through defense.
and if you can look past it
look past the cracks
the scars
the scratches
the chips
the breaking pieces,
you can see me.
i am smiling at your immolation.
fall.
for me.
fall just for me.
i want to see you grapple with oblivion.
and i want to see your pretty face become bloodied with the tearing links to your past.
only then
when you're lying face down
in the bottom of the bottle
and you are bruised
cracked
scarred
scratched
chipped
bleeding
bloody,
and all hope is lost.
i want you to look up.
and look into my eyes.
and then tell me that you know me.
you
will
never
understand
me.
until you are me.
the sky is falling and not a moment too soon.