Empty space

The way the music sends away the noise
and fills the space between the ears
in the same way every thought used to be the sole focus
of our command
I feel hollow without them
So I fill it
So I fill this space behind my heart
within my head
with all this wonderful nonsense
and angsty weights of gold
that I am only beginning to understand
We do whatever it is we may do to fill the void
and continue to refuse to understand
the empty
fill itfill itfill itfill it
dig it out
dig down
dig deep
don't let the silence take me down (take me down)
don't let these feelings echo out (echo out)
don't let me be all alone (all alone)
I can stand to be alone (be alone)
not to be empty, hollow,
emptied, hollowed.
And on mine own.

quick fix

remission doesn't last forever now,
stand together, now,
when things long gone make their returns
does it always bring you down?
I just watched as history repeated itself to me
laughing in its heartless manner
about how quickly the same story can be retold, can be retold
the beauty of it is, that, some of the characters,
they're different,
but have played these parts before
and it's enough to tear you apart
for someone-elses' happiness
as I am slowly learning
the depth and breadth of my own strength
and power
don't you let me forget it
I want to take you for granted
and I will
and I will
be bitter for a time,
cold and angry,
like ice on fire
and eventually melt,
falling to slumber,
and awakening in the morning,
cured.

Sending out and searching for

I am sending out and searching for
the things that went,
that went before,
looking for the words that mean
not exactly the same thing
when frightfully beginning to unveil
the truth that holds out, fraught and pale,
wishing in the whispered nights
of things gone wrong,
of lives gone right.
Ghostly messengers of our strife
spreading word of eternal life
to masses waiting at the helm
steering the world ship 'round and 'round,
as they send out,
and as they search for,
what ever went,
and went before.

Tired try

I am tired of trying to cater to
_the faces I see in the crowd
_the thoughts I hear when the music is loud
_the anger that fills a strangers house
_the wrath of countries far away
Nobody can stand to
_fill the space
_play the ace
_forget what they have been searching for
_tell a lie
Don't you wish that you could see
_the glorious things you would like to be
_the world as it is meant to be
_everything working to a tee
_something different, something free
Is the future what you want to know?
_Or is it something you'd prefer not to?
_How far can you go?
_Can you go slow?
_Would you wait until I show?
Does everything fade, does it even exist?
Did you know you would be missed?
There are those who would sit and wait
simply because they believe it fate,
But I grow tired of sitting still,
so now, I bend fate to my will.

Considerations

I would not be the first to say
that I have never felt this way:
a pressing need, desire in flux,
morality placed in a crux.

As men fall victim to their vice
and reality as cold as ice
they feel compelled to reconsider
everything that made them better.

Who can be everything they try to be?
Only those who only see what they want to see?
And when it comes time to face the facts
and one must retrace their tracks,

What is it that will push through,
and what is it that will fall away?

Reset

She sways away
seeing things
she should not see
being things
she should not be
believing things
that make her retch
washing away the memories
and naive beliefs of yesteryear
waiting for her dreams to catch
and for someone to hit reset
on the things she knew
but would not admit
and she spins out
with nothing as a center
erratic and unpredictable
unbound by physics
defying rules
she's off the hook
but she won't look
there is no one in the mirror
looking back at her
"Don't take my hand;
Don't guide my way;
Don't make me stay;
Don't let me go."
she stands up straight
and walks away
"Doesn't mean a thing to me,
you don't mean a thing to me."
She walks away
and, god, it's dark
as she leaves her empty room
and heads out to face the gloom.

What am I?

What am I
to think of on these
repeating, sleepless days
that fade into each other
likeghostsandmemories,
when I cannot begin to imagine
this thing called "future"
and these things called "feelings"
and when everything comes down
it would appear that
I am blind
and naive
but hopeful
and in this I am rendered hopeless
and I believe that I can see the air
transparent in my vision
rising,
colder,
escaping the atmosphere
and it is almost like I refuse to accept
this confluence of time
in my long past midnight babble
even though I know
that I cannot be above
the passage of the hours.