Waste Of Paint

Friday, October 11, 2013

Horizon

Here's to more hollow words filling pages already empty
While the world decays and I decay and we decay
But the words remain the same, they stay, we stay, i stay, the same
Squiggles, marks, blemishes, ink sprawled across lifeless trees

Sometimes I catch myself a hypocrite, reading in the prayer position
Knees underneath me, scars rubbing on asphalt,
hands clasping a book like it's the Word
but they are just words bespeaking my sadness

It's as if these even lines and right angled pages could give us meaning
A meaning found only in dreams, in blackouts, in death
The search continues, but each page is the same,  I read on
Waiting to see myself, waiting for change, fucking pleading for it

Yet i spend another sleepless night staring at them
markings recanting tales of love, of dragons, of dystopia, of oppression overcome
of change i will never experience
transcendence that only fits in this 2D world

And the sun slowly rises, highlighting my crow's feet
lines marking a still sort of young face
traced across years working and playing outside
wrinkles from a face fixed firmly on the horizon