Gold Against The Soul



I owe it to the dreams that always bring me around. Such madness so glorious and terrible. Faith in drunken kisses as the ocean creeps to our naked feet. Play the piano and dance with the trees. Embrace the lonely hours like they never even existed. I’m not the same, yet I’m exactly how I used to be. How can the future be so familiar when chaos flows through our worn out veins? Talking to the walls, there’s only space and hell to keep me company. There’s only the neon lights of the city when stars are what’s needed most. Swaying this way and that, there’s a devil in my belly always aching for disaster. It breaks the rhythm of tired designs. It destroys the walls we built to carry us safely through the night. Someone on your shoulder. The voice of childhood monsters echoing inside your fractured head. Several states of bewilderment as you brush your teeth for the fifteenth time. Kill me with love. Drown my reflections. Let them rest in peace not fade away like a tired dream. Bleach your upper lip. Peel back all of your skin. Sink into misery like it was something natural. Smoke too many cigarettes. A constant war with no sense of shame. Melancholy breaths like the victim of a knife fight. I can never seem to express the love within me, but trash is always trash. Faces change yet remain the same. Rituals to fend off introspection. Nausea in backhanded compliments. The haze of elsewhere. Nowhere man. Be lame be whatever. Sin in your underwear. Sin smeared across your cheating, pale face. Gunmetal. Cerebral bullshit. Mothers milk. God fearing so sinister. Endless and nameless. Blah blah.

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