Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
Culpability
The smell of the wind
Prior to a storm
Is a beautiful thing.
Unlock the gate,
Let me out of the cage.
Allow me to walk through
The sheets of rain.
Cascading to my senses,
The wind, the rain, the cold.
The air hangs heavy
Of current death,
And all the pages
Of all the books I open
Have been blackened
With the cancer of hate.
Out of turmoil
Grows wilted lilies
That never gain privy to life.
Tiny sounds, I blink hard,
Throw the books
Into the emotional fire.
Hollering into the wind
Are voices that blame me for everything.
Cut a wound,
Bleed it into the grass
And watch the rainwater mix
With the oozing of blood.
Heart skips beats until
Only the sound of rustling leaves remains,
And not even the dirt calls to me.
Blunt is the object, blunt are the words
That have brought me down to earth.
August 21, 2004
Prior to a storm
Is a beautiful thing.
Unlock the gate,
Let me out of the cage.
Allow me to walk through
The sheets of rain.
Cascading to my senses,
The wind, the rain, the cold.
The air hangs heavy
Of current death,
And all the pages
Of all the books I open
Have been blackened
With the cancer of hate.
Out of turmoil
Grows wilted lilies
That never gain privy to life.
Tiny sounds, I blink hard,
Throw the books
Into the emotional fire.
Hollering into the wind
Are voices that blame me for everything.
Cut a wound,
Bleed it into the grass
And watch the rainwater mix
With the oozing of blood.
Heart skips beats until
Only the sound of rustling leaves remains,
And not even the dirt calls to me.
Blunt is the object, blunt are the words
That have brought me down to earth.
August 21, 2004
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Culpability
Culpability