The heart is heavy, yet something is missing
The head is throbbing, with no escape in sight
Blue screams, black dreams.
Twisting, squeezing, strangling me
But leaving me just enough air, just enough
To feel my sadness.
In the beginning there was coffee,
Music. Hotel California.
Coming to my senses.
Leaving my senses behind.
Leaving them to you.
It’s a tunnel.
Then there were words.
Words that meant a little more each time,
then meant nothing at all.
Then there were books.
Mountains of stories.
Meaningless talk about nothing in particular.
It’s a mystery I’m supposed to solve.
Library; I’m passing out.
Why did I consent?
When, in the End,
I knew there would be nothing.
Everybody thinks they know her.
Thinks they know what it’s like.
They think it’s easy, free, natural.
But all everybody really sees is the surface,
a hard, un-real facade.
It’s helped her out in the past and will again in the future.
But only one knows how long and hard it was to build it up,
and how frighteningly fast it can fall away.