Isn't it great when you read a poem or hear lyrics to a song and they perfectly articulate the feelings inside of you, both affirming to you that you're not alone in your insanity and prompting you to exhale? Yes? Well, I think it is. And Imogen got me good when she sang:
'Where do we go from here?
How do we carry on?
I can't get beyond these questions...
Clambering for the scraps in the shatter of us collapsed
that cuts me with every could-have-been
Pain on pain on play repeating
with the backup, makeshift life in waiting
Everybody says time heals everything
but what of the wretched hollow?
The endless in between
are we just going to wait it out?
There's nothing to see here now,
turning the sign around
We're closed to the earth 'til further notice
A stumbling cliched case,
crumpled and puffy faced
Dead in the stare of a thousand miles.
All I want, only one, street level miracle
I'll be an out and out, born again, from none more
cynical
And sit here cold, we will be long gone by then
In lackluster, in dust we layer on old magazines,
fluorescent lighting sets the scene
in the one life that we've got
And sit here
Just going to wait it out
And sit here cold
Just going to sweat it out
Wait it out'
Sometimes I wish I couldn't act. Or that someone cared:
A lady bathed a compliment
Within my salty eyes,
Though she saw not the reverence
Like fleeting fireflies
Dancing about my aching orbs,
Such pain they did educe,
For nothing lasts forever, dear,
I beg, be not obtuse.
My feet may tap in rhythm,
Yes, I may snow a smile,
But the sickly milky realism
Bubbles all the while.
These tears will evaporate,
My head I'll hold up high,
And he will always have a key
Though I may know not why.
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