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Obscure, like I am, Like words in an untouched book The pages unturned; A mystery unfurls. Speak not of my deeds, But yet of my faith Tears on a parched page Leaves as crisp as words.
[final song in a trilogy: The Cradle, The Palace, The Grave. All three have taken me the last four years to complete and can now be found on Opuss.
To Choose is to make a Choice. I know some will say: "Well that is obvious!" But - When one actually - Stops; And - Thinks - Is it now as obvious as was originally bethought.
Looking out from afar. It is I, that I witness in the distance. I stand alone; Unique, But then I do seek to pervade that Shadowy Dark. It is I out alone - Upon those mountainous, Off-cut peaks.
Are you sure.
The clutter and messes inside my mind, Will never be sorted in any kind. This general disorder is mine to search, On a ledge, overlooking it all, do I perch.
The view from the top Both terrifying and beautiful.
I look in the mirror and see that face,. It takes me back to a different place,. That pale, thin oval of a ghostly shade,. A cement of secrets set to be laid,.
I feel a bit uninspired at the moment. Do you ever get those times where nothing you write seems good enough. It's ever so depressing.
It's dark, not pitch but dark enough to know its night. I lay still feeling the rhythmic beating of my heart, my breathing seeming somewhat laboured.
Good and bad. This is who I am. Happy or sad. This is who I am. Some say mad. But this is who I am. Sometimes I feel love. This is who I am. Sometimes I feel rough. This is who I am.
I wouldn't want to stare at you until our eyelids fall on themselves and eyelashes lock for the night. I could see myself waking up next to you and stretching my worries away, but I wouldn't want to.
I love the sound of rain. Here, hidden from the rest of the world in my cosy attic room, the rain showers down and completely surrounds me.
Sometimes the world seems big and brash, A ripping, roaring tide- Of shouts and yells and craziness, From which I want to hide.
Waiting in the room that smells like lemons. My mom is talking to my psychiatrist as I wait in this room. Across from me is a girl with heels, a skirt, and kool-aid.
I wonder as you stare, That perhaps you're as mad as a hare, What great Oceanic eyes, That sit and learn of my demise, Can you see my soul. Or is there just a hole.
Tomorrow Land October 24 2010 Passion boil Never toil With what is ought to stay Never prick me with that splendor For what i'd often pray Little bird your wings are clipped Her window shut and...
Extract: "So right now, still sitting on my floor, while random tunes play through my Angry Birds iPod dock, from Khailash Kher to The Game, through to Mohammed Rafi and Mariah Carey, one of the two...
Not the prettiest, Smartest, Or funniest. Overweight, Eccentric, Somewhat niche. A sense of humour, In the gutter, A tendency To be Overly Melodramatic.
Imagine all it could be. Darling you may never know. You see the rain,but I see the sun. You see the sad,I see the happy. You see the dark, I see the light.You see the frown, I see the smile.
If you’re in London right now... it is raining I can see drops of rain very clearly on my window Each drop of rain is so clear...
I sit and listen to the rain patter on my window. Feeling all snug and warm inside. The pattering is soft for a while. Then there are moments when it's loud. It's like a musical of raindrops.
I'm staring blankly at the wall, Thinking of times I left, Like shadows on the floor. A face, a name, a life gone by. Still more of us each day, Are sure enough to die. Time is going by so fast.
Reminiscing the various stories I truly believed when a child, I recalled too the very moments when I realised they were not exactly true.