tho it’s supposed to be the top of the world it actually isn’t quite like that.
you know what?
it’s not usual for this sky to be this clear
it’s usually fuckin’ overcast and gloomy all day long… i can’t take it, you couln’t take it, no one can really take it. your mind tries hard to sidestep the absorption of every bit of those hellish molecules of pain, strain, disdain, pain, insane rain… all in vein… all in dang vein! it might be high, up here, over everyone else, but it’s cold as hell… and i miss summer. i no longer want an effing ivory tower, all i want is voiceless s’s, bordeaux shorts, a southern accent, seasons, and a sweet finale.
but you know what?
it’s not gloomy now.
theres this tiny voice deep within me that keeps repeating itself. it’s not my voice, it’s someone else’s. i don’t even know if it’s actually a voice… or an image… or a vision, or a daydream, or me getting sick, or me going nuts, or the universe in my ears… but i see you there, thru n thru
i guess obsessions latch onto us once in a while, so do infatuations… love… hatred… tedium… but i’m imbued with the utmost mental condition anyone could ever get after feeling alive during that perfect sunny afternoon on the bank of the river. i keep playing that gizmo… and it’s prety much like a magic box that brings me some distorted parts of the body and soul i loved without my voluptuousness… idk what dragged me, or what kinda spell was cast upon me, or what sorta bullheaded obsession grew from this corpse and now just wants to hold on to a memory of times gone past
all i know is nothing makes sense and nothing will ever make sense. all i know is that i was in Paradise itself. and it fucking hurt. it fucking hut because my people don’t know it, and won’t ever know it. it hurt because i had to come back, because i could be aware of lame differences that actually make a difference. it hurt because im a continent away from your laughter and tears, because there this shitty currency crisis and i cannot make enough, not even for the month. it hurt because trees are all another story here, they’re lifeless, they’re weak, they’re contaminated, they wither… and so do i, and all i have left is my pathetic voice, because idk how much more i can take, coz i still get this fear, dear, hear this tear veer near your ear
“what i like about being here is that i can be free, through n through” said a guy who’s got your blessed accent the other day around the corner from citibank. in the wake of my coming across this fella i felt so on your doorstep that i just stayed put and said hi. i couldn’t help it, i just couldn’t. i then came to the realization that your voice is exceptionally special, because much as his was a man’s, one filled with love and determination, it lacked the sweetness that attracted my soul in the most spiritual and worldly way.
dusk is falling, i can’t see straight
im looking forward to dawn