Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
Another twisted night
Another night of carving skin away from the bone,
Wasting away the hours, sitting by the window,
Staring noiselessly into the abyss that is humanity.
My fingers tremor, I clutch my head in my hands,
Tasting the emotion in the room, this populace,
And the way the cold air breathes calmly on my neck.
My breathing nearly halts; I clash to save my neck.
In fruitless battles, I am tearing meat from the bone
And when I dream, I see the dying populace,
Writhing from disease, bodies dumped out the window,
People with death on their faces, their hands
Still reaching out for hope, hands still praying for humanity.
In my mind, radiant eyes look to me as humanity's
Last hope. I amiably accept and put my neck
On the chopping block and hope my hands
Can carry the weight of the world as its old bones
Shiver and throb from age. My eyes act as a window,
I yearn to be free; I crave to be part of the populace.
Someone is whispering in my ears, some of the populace
Is turning my heart to frost. And it's not humanity
That is making me reassess. Out the window
I gaze, making sense out of streetlights. I strain my neck
To get a better view but can see naught but the bones
Of buildings yet to be accomplished. I have nothing in my hands.
When the blood dries upon my decomposed hands,
I hope to have the audacity to turn to any populace
And say I tried my hardest. Their response will freeze my bones,
I know this. I am prepared for humanity
To throw me on the guillotine and slice through my neck,
Letting my wits slither away, no longer spellbound behind a window.
For the time being, I am a little girl staring out the window,
With nary a clue as to the future she'll hold in her hands.
For now, only ideas string her neck,
Not fingers. For now, her emotions are a populace
Of unawareness and for now, humanity
Has not asked her to play jesus. For now, she is flesh and bone.
I stare out the window, I see only a populace
Undeserving of the hands that will grasp humanity
Around the neck, before releasing it, to turn it into bone.
September 1, 2008
Wasting away the hours, sitting by the window,
Staring noiselessly into the abyss that is humanity.
My fingers tremor, I clutch my head in my hands,
Tasting the emotion in the room, this populace,
And the way the cold air breathes calmly on my neck.
My breathing nearly halts; I clash to save my neck.
In fruitless battles, I am tearing meat from the bone
And when I dream, I see the dying populace,
Writhing from disease, bodies dumped out the window,
People with death on their faces, their hands
Still reaching out for hope, hands still praying for humanity.
In my mind, radiant eyes look to me as humanity's
Last hope. I amiably accept and put my neck
On the chopping block and hope my hands
Can carry the weight of the world as its old bones
Shiver and throb from age. My eyes act as a window,
I yearn to be free; I crave to be part of the populace.
Someone is whispering in my ears, some of the populace
Is turning my heart to frost. And it's not humanity
That is making me reassess. Out the window
I gaze, making sense out of streetlights. I strain my neck
To get a better view but can see naught but the bones
Of buildings yet to be accomplished. I have nothing in my hands.
When the blood dries upon my decomposed hands,
I hope to have the audacity to turn to any populace
And say I tried my hardest. Their response will freeze my bones,
I know this. I am prepared for humanity
To throw me on the guillotine and slice through my neck,
Letting my wits slither away, no longer spellbound behind a window.
For the time being, I am a little girl staring out the window,
With nary a clue as to the future she'll hold in her hands.
For now, only ideas string her neck,
Not fingers. For now, her emotions are a populace
Of unawareness and for now, humanity
Has not asked her to play jesus. For now, she is flesh and bone.
I stare out the window, I see only a populace
Undeserving of the hands that will grasp humanity
Around the neck, before releasing it, to turn it into bone.
September 1, 2008
Comment On This Poem ---
Another twisted night
Another twisted night
