Me and My Muse

Thursday, November 22, 2007

Always Accustomed

There remains, 'neath the inactive retention
Which remained in a snug bed for years,
Some parched recollection of glimmer.
Parts of myself, I'll never relate to
Moments that'll never happen.
'twas the confinement of percertion

With minimized trust and anger
As muteness shrouds thoughts
The low and steady uneasiness sets in
While the sleep between walls of belief
While disenchanted ghosts observe consciously
While indicators of nervous fear in smiles

I gaped wide with a feeling, this day
The world woke up mad at me as usual;
I didn't even care that I was left here
Sitting on this old rocking chair
All by myself;

But that's ok with me because I am use to accepting
The silence for what it's worth;
And to me it's worth the addiction it brings
Over a lifetime of hurt that
Suffered into one too many thoughts obscured.

Rip the senses unfiltered
More advanced or immature than is appropriate
Not for lack of wanting
Debris left that is only good for different things,
Other than what they were made for




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