Psychotic Rock Star

The melancholy life of the Psychotic wannabe Rock Star.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

These things, these things that come and go
They swallow the spirit, that soul you think you know
These people, the ones that seem to delve
Deeply into the crevices you never knew were there

Loved for those sacred moments,
Held sweetly, fingertips stroking softly
In glass ball of burning fire, blazing, raging flame
Sheltered, my shattered-ness
In the arms of that one yet again,

It mends
Let me heal you…. Shelter you
From the harshness in the midst of that gentle wind
That sings and cries, that sees all and hears everything

Caress, tenderly stroke the heart, kiss, breathe sweetly in
The sacred equity of it,
Breathe again, the crisp sense of emotion
They look straight into you… Delving quietly
They give you rolling, pulsating feelings
Of being placated, satiated, satisfied
And repulsed at nature’s ways
They leave you reminiscent and yearning
Angry, and pushing and dancing astray,
Craving.

As for me,
I wish I were the wind, seeing all, singing softly
Caressing,
Following wherever they may go,
Wherever you may go
In this life, or some other, where pain ceases to exist…
What does it matter?

I wish I were a star, burning flame, raging fire
Self-sustaining and sustained by everything
In a glass ball where memories end and thoughts begin
Where sacred moments take root
Pleasant thoughts sear and scar within temptation
Pleasant thoughts of you

Where a moment of un-shattered-ness
Could last forever
And fresh ideas would be a thing of the past
Innocence, haunt me never.

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