Not very optomistic I must admit. So if on the verge of any form of mental break down, or depression, beware!
You will never finds love where you would look.
It hides, runs, peeks through silver key holes.
Laughing it beckons from the silverlining, the cloud; the unreachable.
“Are we never shown, on some smooth pink stained road
the trail of french snails that pull, pull and BOOM?
The heat; the pulsating; the bursting hearts. Amore...”
Instead you fight to keep from pouring out. Rusty, steel gates. Open and gushing.
“Maybe no one can say? no one really knows what isn't there,
only the dillusional product of my wishing heart. False. Not true.”
Contented are your viens: rimmed with happiness fused from a place of knowing, a place that wreeks of truth.
“I dont want to know, let me live, let me settle for my world of colour blind”
Truth yells! Truth Screams and shouts, no one wants to listen to the truth...
Love is not something you can ever truly know,
the meaning of life, the meaning of your selfish being is to want and want and wish upon sneaky, sparkling, spiteful stars.
Never to get, never to hold in your outstreched hands.
But to fight and pull and ravish till all's left is the leaves, the tree's bare and weeping.
Stunned into silence. For here you see, even they speak, plead.
“We have eyes yet we do not see, we have ears, do we listen?
our mouths wretch and froth black, dumb foam. grey and foul.
the stench unbearable.”
now will you listen, see and speak?
“no, never. even now”
I who holds the truth within words so painful, vowels so sharp and nouns that shotgun paper flowers, roses, again and again cannot accept, but still I tell.”
“What then do we live for? if not for love?”
Well, indeed you live just for that. To live. No reason, you are the design flaw in the great cold, greying, cosmic system,<
for animals and others of the such do not love.
“Our brains built and built until there were no bricks more to do so.”
Simple you see. It is your destiny to do with yourselves what you will,
“till fate knocks, till another, heart shaped meteor crashes, blows, heals the planet of our spawn?”
Humans were never moulded by the hands of god,
but by horned demons, and red skinned monsters.
We are the enemy, we are what many wish not to be.
“surely not? the devil?”
taken thrice and ripped and shred. squash together...
Tis Lucifers head.