sure i'll have another one, its early.

Im victim to my own imagination and this hollow
heart’s resigned beating echoes on saturated sheets.
Canary yellow dances in tangles with sky blue cotton
as these clouds slowly dissipate in order for a return to stable ground.
But this ground’s been dry too long. Lonely tins of vibrant colours
await use in the dusty forgotten cupboard. So my umbrella holds
off contact from welcomed but reclusive water, well its true the
weather man’s a liar. Everything’s clear from where I’m sitting
This hot tasting atmosphere is the alarm clock on my biological clock.
I didn’t realise I’d set snooze for months. This escape has got me
gasping for breath but supplies of oxygen only seem to rise as I
repeat A-B for the second time. Let me out of this repetitive nature, wait.
I ate the key to that too.

Sanctuary

Run back to the bed that you sleep in and the cocoon you weep in,
trying so hard to keep in, any evidence or essence of weakness.
The lifelines were wasted on the empty pizza box in the kitchen,
and you've run so far now, turning back would be useless.
They've cut off all supplies of overused tissues.
So you're ripping up letters to dissolve all your unresolved issues.
Rewinding old tapes to see where you tripped up,
but how could you fall without first getting up?
Staring at yourself. The perfect picture of bad health.
So break your crown and break them down.
Pinpoint and analyse each expression you've found.
Pull out the finger you're so attached to,
and start moving before they move along without you.
You can already see it. It's happened too fast.
The world won't stop moving but you're still in the past.

I will follow you into the dark.

The picture is far too big to look at kid. Your eyes won't open wide enough
and you're constantly surrounded by that swirling stream of what is
and what was. Well, we've all made our predictions but the truth still
isn't out. But if you wanna see the future, go stare into a cloud. And
keep trying to find your way out of that maze of memories. It all sort
of looks familiar, until you get up close and it's different. clearly.
But each time you turn a corner, you're right back where you were
and your only hope is that forgetting might make a door appear.
Well is it your fear of being buried that makes you so afraid to speak?
An avalanche of opinions like the one that fell that I am now
underneath. It was my voice that moved the first rock and I would do
it all again. So, I mean, it's cool if you keep quiet, but I like singing.
So I'll be holding my note and stomping and strumming and feeling
so very lucky.There is nothing I know except this lifetime's one moment
and wishing will just leave me empty.