relativelytheoretical
Yes, I'm the one who pushed,
but you're the one who let it tip.
I may be the devil's advocate after all...
but you, of course,
listened.
And that was your own mistake.
The legs are responsible for the destination, not the twisted road.
My lungs and joints protest
as I push this extra mile
and pound you out of my head,
fickle love of mine.
My heart would protest, as well,
if it wasn't beating so fiercely
to supply to the legitimate vitals
that it could forget the craved ones.
They still can't decide;
they never will,
For the voices in my head were always pure contradiction--
A massive chaos developed, perhaps, to keep the gears turning
When all I sought was a shutdown.
The sleep of the dead is enviable.
After all, there is no rest for the weary...
and my mind is buzzing from the adrenaline that's keeping me upright
for the umpteenth time.
It's an unending process, really.
Yes, the rest of the dead is enviable.
But perhaps they envy our still-burning life...
My kingdom for a horse
Take my castle and crown
and the ground on which I sat watched
the whole world burning down
My kindgom for a spade
or a gun
or a pen
Something I can use, instead of sitting on my hands
in the comfort of the throneroom
while the sky fills with smoke
and the words in my lungs simply
die
The walls...
oh the walls, with their ivy and thorns...
And I locked in with utter submission
In the safety of the prison I'd fashioned with care.