Falling through my memories, I remember the times that should have faded
I long for the solitude that comes from distinct ideas of self-denial that this never happened
that this not the way that my parents told me it should have happened since
I have no reliable memory or that I remember it differently so that the truth is gone, gone, gone
away; that I have misspent my days on the wasteland that has been always thus, a disinterested yet plaintive kind of needless honesty.
Time is like a dried up river because the waters that should have flowed there were dammed up to avoid the pains that tears at my misconceptions- that all was a kind of stupid ignorant bliss that I would miss, that I want to miss. That I did somehow live through though now I can only wish that I had forgotten where and when it happened like the blown out windows in an empty house that is a lone specter on the horizon of my dreams, nightmarish in the stark betrayal of secrets that I was told were not to be retold or shared. That there were things I should have dared to believe since all around me those that should have cared did not believe nor did they want to understand because at the end of the day we are all scared. We are all just a little scared.
I am the snowflake that melts in the heat of the smiles and those people we assume are normal that I cannot associate with my fate is not my own nor is it under the controls that I want to believe I will be in command of like my rage that should have faded away like the lies that I am not writing upon this my sacred page, Will I ever be old enough to understand what the feeling was like, such as this truth that comes with pain, things I have learned from my past, will it come again- this gentle fail of the April rains?
This gentle passing of the April rains.
Leaving only puddles and not the presence of darkness like the stains on a canvas that are more like the tears that I have felt amongst all the days of anguish against the anger and the hands and the names that are slung backward and forward as all those that I wanted to understand will simply turn away from my reprimands and make the demand that I leave this all alone because I am cutting this too close, too close to the bone, cutting it down to the bone.
I want to run, I want to scream I want to find the music that will close the gap in all my fears that have followed me, through this the tragedy I never knew would return after all these years.
Will I ever find the peace that I could have known after all these years?
I want to run, I wish I could fly away out into the brilliant sunlight that must fill someone else's skies away from the stories we tell ourselves that were just another way to white wash away all our lies, so I repeat them over and over again, just give it a chance, just one more try- maybe this time i can really make a good case, just another way to deny that life has been more than just a cliché, that there is something more here than just this tarnished token of the thing I can do when everything I know has been broken.
I long for the solitude that comes from distinct ideas of self-denial that this never happened
that this not the way that my parents told me it should have happened since
I have no reliable memory or that I remember it differently so that the truth is gone, gone, gone
away; that I have misspent my days on the wasteland that has been always thus, a disinterested yet plaintive kind of needless honesty.
Time is like a dried up river because the waters that should have flowed there were dammed up to avoid the pains that tears at my misconceptions- that all was a kind of stupid ignorant bliss that I would miss, that I want to miss. That I did somehow live through though now I can only wish that I had forgotten where and when it happened like the blown out windows in an empty house that is a lone specter on the horizon of my dreams, nightmarish in the stark betrayal of secrets that I was told were not to be retold or shared. That there were things I should have dared to believe since all around me those that should have cared did not believe nor did they want to understand because at the end of the day we are all scared. We are all just a little scared.
I am the snowflake that melts in the heat of the smiles and those people we assume are normal that I cannot associate with my fate is not my own nor is it under the controls that I want to believe I will be in command of like my rage that should have faded away like the lies that I am not writing upon this my sacred page, Will I ever be old enough to understand what the feeling was like, such as this truth that comes with pain, things I have learned from my past, will it come again- this gentle fail of the April rains?
This gentle passing of the April rains.
Leaving only puddles and not the presence of darkness like the stains on a canvas that are more like the tears that I have felt amongst all the days of anguish against the anger and the hands and the names that are slung backward and forward as all those that I wanted to understand will simply turn away from my reprimands and make the demand that I leave this all alone because I am cutting this too close, too close to the bone, cutting it down to the bone.
I want to run, I want to scream I want to find the music that will close the gap in all my fears that have followed me, through this the tragedy I never knew would return after all these years.
Will I ever find the peace that I could have known after all these years?
I want to run, I wish I could fly away out into the brilliant sunlight that must fill someone else's skies away from the stories we tell ourselves that were just another way to white wash away all our lies, so I repeat them over and over again, just give it a chance, just one more try- maybe this time i can really make a good case, just another way to deny that life has been more than just a cliché, that there is something more here than just this tarnished token of the thing I can do when everything I know has been broken.
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