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Lips move but I canít feel what youíre saying as you light your cigarette. You have hatred and depression in your eyes, but I can feel the love inside. Every intake is a freedom you express in wake of having no freedom. Not sure if its boredom or pure nothingness. The age of our times is in an age of reason. Do you love or do you die. You! Only you! Decide love or death. Every cyanide pack smoked is killing me and you. Emotion is only a percent. She wonít let me forget what love is but will forget her self. I watch her sleep half her life away and grow more depressed. Beauty is a strange way of showing life.

Iím running thru the forest entrapped in the dream. The Memories of darkness, moisture and blood felt real. Iím being chased by a dark object entrapping me along an edge. Closely I watch the razors slice my fingers and watch them slide down my hand. Blood ran all around, in a moment you wake. Thereís no turning back how I felt. Hoping to awake I hide behind a tree trying to put my fingers in a bag. The darkness is coming colder and closer towards me. With every step closer my heart turns into stone and blood into sand. I remember my head pounding as I hit it against the tree. Around the corner is a light of darkness that looks over me. As I stair down the barrel, I watch the razor come at me andÖ.. Awake back to reality I sit in pain with head pounding!

The emotion in my life is imprisoned by a conscious powerful enough to be a god. It lurks day to day only seeing what is real and in sight. Parallel realities twisted inside seep into the outer body. This prison of mine is no scapegoat. Trained machine that burns every thought and feeling into stone.

Your life is built on paranoia and guilt.

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The following comments are for "A Strange Morning"
by NucleusFire

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