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when i was a boywhen i was a boy i drew poetry on cardboard and faces on walls with sixty-four crayons, because everything should be beautiful and no one should have to die yeah no one should have to die, and when i was a boy i thought the sky was infinite and oxygen had a colour and shades of blue tasted like strawberry pie because someday i knew i'd be able to fly, because someday i'd be able to fly.when i was a boy
when i was a boy i scribbled dark thoughts on paper and wrote my name backwards when everything went wrong and if nothing seemed to fit, and when i was a boy if songs didn't sound right a
by ~spiralinggrey
i will try to see the starsIf you close your eyes then the galaxies align Make a shred of sense out of all this bloody mess And the stars form patterns from what once we called chaos The swirling angry void we used to lament Our fingers entwined with the austere chainlink fence Contemplate the silence Relegate the distance So if I look to the sky for hope, will you come too?i will try to see the stars
Nursery rhymes for children and scowls from the cynics I have hay fever to happiness on this blithe spring day How I wish that I could crawl off in some corner and just Sleep it all away And don't think you can fix every
by ~spiralinggrey
these nights i feel i've losthold my heart rigid against the macabre sunset, i smile for rainstorms the way you smile for cameras and i wish i could write song lyrics but my rhymes always fall out of touch with reality and your eyes speak so much clearer than all the oceans in my chest continents and swirling skylines, if i could i'd board a ship and sail to you but there's such a distance between here and there darling (dear), i fear the ink on my forehead and fingers shall bleed black and grey before i can tell you anything that matters (such as) i love you or i once believed god livedthese nights i feel i've lost
by ~spiralinggrey
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- Current Residence: the sulphurous fires of Hell
- Personal Quote: The truth is often far more real than reality, because reality is rarely quite the truth.
- Tools of the Trade: angst and a keyboard
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