The Actor Is Hung By His Character.
The Actor Is Hung By His Character.
5/29/07.
So I wander these streets like a ghost and prepare for another
Sleepless night, as the broken water falls in pieces from the sky,
And I hear the dark on the wind as a song floats through the trees
Words read from glass paper so fragile, and carefully crafted
And read with a practice that always reminds me of wedding vows,
Recited too often, too overdone it takes the beauty from the words,
As their tongues dance around every syllable with the practice of
Prostitute slipping into a strangers sheets to fabricate love and
Leave him to just his dreams.
These things said, they seem to cradle me, words whispered so gently,
'the only one for me' but its not the sound that captures my heart no,
Its the meaning behind the assembled letters that holds me in a way,
That seems to suspend me in a place of a bliss not even god could scheme
Up, so maybe you should think more of the connotative effect on me,
Instead of how good this will look to the surrounding beauty.
And these clothes cling to me as words form in my mind and I begin to
Shiver with a belief that i'll die here, in this airy cage and when i'm laid
Down in my grave, I hope its made of silent prose, for I hold you with
My words, as I lie like a poem.
__________________
I dyed my hair in a motel void met the coroner at the Dreamgate Frontier,
He took my hand said I'll help you boy if you really want to disappear.
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