Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
All those songs about misery, they all make sense now
Sitting here eating a cookie as though I were starving to death,
I wonder if maybe that would be a better alternative to existing.
Aside from you, there is only the silence that keeps me company,
And on days like this, a shoulder to cry on would be quite nice.
Sometimes, I do wrong, and I feel like I should be dead because
Of it, but I'm always sorry. There is never a lacking of apologies
When I'm around. I could be regretful and confess my soul to
Its very core if I thought it would make everything all better, but
There is no such thing as all better anymore. My head swirls like
Crazy, because stuff has happened and I wonder if I am the root
Of it like always. My body is cold, my hands shake and I get
Ideas when I get into this state of mind. Do you hear the wind?
It says another breakdown is heading my way, or am I the only
One who can interpret the words so finely? Please God, I assign
Angels to people who need them, waste them not upon my soul,
For you cannot help me anymore. I believe help is far beyond
My reach because of all those years I turned it away. Now I am
Always grasping and trying to just clutch on to it but it floats by.
You'll never know my kind of coldness like I will never know
Yours, but it's nice to contain fantasies. All those songs about
Misery, they all make sense now and push me farther and farther
Into demise. And I'm such a coward, I let it all happen. No matter
How good I think I'm doing by helping others, I'm actually just
Making it worse, aren't I? How could I get so far thinking that if
I did some good, some good would come to me. I must have been
Kidding myself. I just want to dance upon the sour stain of my
Better days, my superior years, where I thought I knew insanity.
I'm such a tool. Use me, I won't complain although I'll wish I had.
Like a candy wrapper, I am just so thrown away. There really is
No point in fishing me out of the trash. I belong here amongst the
Other refuse. I belong where I once feared to go, but I'm here so
I may as well just live in what my life already is. As if change
Can just be achieved so easily. You have to want it, you have to
Need it and I don't need nothing, just this world I've created, the
World I've lived in for far too long. Just let the depression eat
Away at me, sometimes I'm already dead on the floor from it.
Please don't cry for me (Argentina?) because tears can't resurrect
A failure from her doom. I'm fatigued; I can't even walk right
Without nearly running into walls. My head, I've learned to just
Ignore the numbing pain that gnaws on my eardrums and the
Soul of my mind. I just don't need ears sometimes; I can hear
Just fine with my heart. My muscles hurt like I've been lifting
Weights. Well all I've had to hold all kinds of emotions and I'm
Quite weary. But I have to be the strong one; it is as though there
Can be no other. Why am I the supposed chosen one? Because.
There is just no other person as prepared as I. Care to take on my
Responsibilities? I'm just wondering if you are still where I last
Left you, I wonder if you are still thinking as I am, I wonder if
You are doing something stupid, I wonder if you are feeling as
Worn out from society as I, I wonder if you can see the angry red
That flows from the tips of my fingers, down to this tainted ground.
January 30, 2006
Suge
I wonder if maybe that would be a better alternative to existing.
Aside from you, there is only the silence that keeps me company,
And on days like this, a shoulder to cry on would be quite nice.
Sometimes, I do wrong, and I feel like I should be dead because
Of it, but I'm always sorry. There is never a lacking of apologies
When I'm around. I could be regretful and confess my soul to
Its very core if I thought it would make everything all better, but
There is no such thing as all better anymore. My head swirls like
Crazy, because stuff has happened and I wonder if I am the root
Of it like always. My body is cold, my hands shake and I get
Ideas when I get into this state of mind. Do you hear the wind?
It says another breakdown is heading my way, or am I the only
One who can interpret the words so finely? Please God, I assign
Angels to people who need them, waste them not upon my soul,
For you cannot help me anymore. I believe help is far beyond
My reach because of all those years I turned it away. Now I am
Always grasping and trying to just clutch on to it but it floats by.
You'll never know my kind of coldness like I will never know
Yours, but it's nice to contain fantasies. All those songs about
Misery, they all make sense now and push me farther and farther
Into demise. And I'm such a coward, I let it all happen. No matter
How good I think I'm doing by helping others, I'm actually just
Making it worse, aren't I? How could I get so far thinking that if
I did some good, some good would come to me. I must have been
Kidding myself. I just want to dance upon the sour stain of my
Better days, my superior years, where I thought I knew insanity.
I'm such a tool. Use me, I won't complain although I'll wish I had.
Like a candy wrapper, I am just so thrown away. There really is
No point in fishing me out of the trash. I belong here amongst the
Other refuse. I belong where I once feared to go, but I'm here so
I may as well just live in what my life already is. As if change
Can just be achieved so easily. You have to want it, you have to
Need it and I don't need nothing, just this world I've created, the
World I've lived in for far too long. Just let the depression eat
Away at me, sometimes I'm already dead on the floor from it.
Please don't cry for me (Argentina?) because tears can't resurrect
A failure from her doom. I'm fatigued; I can't even walk right
Without nearly running into walls. My head, I've learned to just
Ignore the numbing pain that gnaws on my eardrums and the
Soul of my mind. I just don't need ears sometimes; I can hear
Just fine with my heart. My muscles hurt like I've been lifting
Weights. Well all I've had to hold all kinds of emotions and I'm
Quite weary. But I have to be the strong one; it is as though there
Can be no other. Why am I the supposed chosen one? Because.
There is just no other person as prepared as I. Care to take on my
Responsibilities? I'm just wondering if you are still where I last
Left you, I wonder if you are still thinking as I am, I wonder if
You are doing something stupid, I wonder if you are feeling as
Worn out from society as I, I wonder if you can see the angry red
That flows from the tips of my fingers, down to this tainted ground.
January 30, 2006
Suge
Comment On This Poem ---
All those songs about misery, they all make sense now
All those songs about misery, they all make sense now