out here in this infernal room by the sea
where the fog rolls in thick and lingers
its like a ghost with no soul
haunting you long enough for true sadness to set in is impossible
what doesn't remind us of our mortality?
its late at night and the only things left to see anywhere is what to buy, when to, where to, why to
its all s*** and it doesn't matter to me anyways
the low paced breath's of frail and graying intellectual's, this item love harbors deepest to my heart
this concern's me
some slow tapping beating of water on the glass that surrounds us as we rest
some drops hit harder than others making a loud thud
like birds breaking themselvs against windows closed to keep out the cold they were flying from
irrationally, illogically, this concerns me, like a phobia
horrified of rushing water's piling up drop by drop outside
the universe plots against me
at other times you hear whisper's, creak's,and heavy breathes
deed's, desire's, actions, plots, that stay hidden outside of sleeping lids
except now
these concern me, frightening only by fault
they harbor me no ill personally
and then you realize the dull lifelessness of what surrounds you
some things seem to organize themselves,
oblivious to what destiny wanted for them
self loathing is what propels history
how can we possibly kill ourselves faster
oh!
i know!