in smoke filled rooms of electric sound

'and those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.' nietzsche

i don't seem to know where i'm going anymore. and i feel like i'm drowning, to use one of those metaphors that everyone tosses around because nothing's original. i don't know what to say or how to feel about the several situations that surround my life. can't there be an off button of some kind i can install on the wall and can't i call you for help? you're breaking my heart with your silence, you know. i look at the letters on the letter and i sigh in disappointment yet again because i'm not good enough. for me, for you, for anyone.

sometimes i think i'd like to die young just so i could be remembered as what i could have been. i don't want to live long enough to fail and become just another smear of dirt on society's freshly painted bedroom walls. just the very idea of this is making me shake in the kitchen chair where i feverishly type away on these shiny black keys. i wish i could lose myself in anything that wasn't you or the things i used to do. but just as i collapse and retire into quiet anonymity i remember all the things you used to say and the way you walked away and i can finally breathe.

you must think i'm fucking stupid if i'm going to sit here and listen to you bullshit. most of you don't know how great your lives are. and i don't need no lecture on how i should be grateful for having a house and clean water - because i am. most of you will live content lives and do what you've always wanted. maybe you'll have kids and get married, maybe you'll start your own dance troupe, maybe you'll direct hollywood films, maybe you'll be a rockstar and snort cocaine off hot young things, maybe you'll teach biophysics; i don't know what you want to do in life.

you say i'm broken, i say i'm doing just fine in the separate parts of me. i don't need you to tell me i need to be fixed. i don't need your bullshit. don't pity me. the worst thing in the world you could do is pity me because that only makes me hate you more. hate me if you'd like. i'm sure a lot of you do. but don't waste your pity on me because all i'm going to do is spit venom right back at you.

and apparently there are better things in life than alcohol, but sometimes it'll make up for not having them.

Change Direction

Im not a prince nor the president, the power? na i'm just the prospering peasant with more potential than the people who possess it a philosophical poet with a brain far ahead from the present, pathetic population see problems without even looking from a perfected perspective. I see through true spectacles, your blind so id rather be in poverty than be visionless and protected, when the reckoning comes well all fall powerless to the might we neglected, since the first tock ticked. The clock was restless to stop as it witnessed destruction so endlessly reckless, as it itself wished it could stop.... And change direction.

As i walked through the life i noticed everybody else was driving, i looked ahead the sight was frightening far from a light ahead,instead it was lightning, it was raining in front of me the light was fading behind me, dying to be lively as i walk up the hill which is rising the fight is becoming more of a strife as i walk against the wind flow which is pushing me, quite rightly, i struggle quietly so survival is becoming less likely i must be blind to not see there’s nothing but darkness which now misguides me, but now the tide drives me ahead into a dead ending, into the last word of the last sentence, i see nothing and it symbolises my reflection so i wish i could stop.... And change direction

Granddad

Dont cry. Hold your tears

Although you’ll never feel their fibre, sense their smell..

Hold close to your heart

the memories, they are gold.

Close by you they will walk

Unless the last petal on their stem was plucked by you

But no salt water would be shed if that were true- walk with them

All those times

Those good & bad times

Hold them close, and wait

Wait for the day

That you’ll meet again

For you will meet again, don’t rush

Don’t cry. Hold your tears

Close your eyes. They are near.

just a few reposts to get this started, then.

temporary insanity.

you make me so uneasy. you chill me to the very bottom of my soul with your words; for just a glance at you or a mere mention of your goddamn name is enough to raise my heart rate; little by little i begin to fall into pieces because you make my palms sweat and my pulse beat and you don't know what you do to me. and i'd drop all the willow-patterned china in the heirlooms cupboard to be yours, and for you to be mine.

curled up into the tightest ball imaginable; then tighter. i think of you on the loneliest nights, on the blackest, darkest moments right before i black out. you are exactly like my pulse - fast and furious for those blissful moments, slow for the rest of eternity - inconsistent. you swoop. you dive. i long to have a smooth ride, to sail on a calm sea.

thunderstorms aren't fun for me anymore.

You know what they say

capitalism, elitism, atheism, im all for it
being a hater on the sidelines is nothing more than boring
you know what they say, you have to play
the game to be a winner so im in it, see me winning?
not yet, cool, but i see you whining, your annoying
you know what they say, if you cant beat 'em then join 'em
i have invested days researching deep into the world's hidden lies,
hidden truths, i should say,
from illuminati to obama, aleister crowley and david icke
you know what they say, ask no questions, hear no lies
hear no evil see no evil, see i, i turn a blind eye
who am i, to question why the world turns on it's side
ive got no purpose, no service, im just here to live my life
so when i bun a jesus junkie please dont run up on me
asking question after question, cos i can look at you with such a disinterest
you imagine seeing fire in my eyes, but thats only because your religions got you blind
you know what they say, if you cant stand the heat, get out the kitchen
too many cooks spoil the brew, money over bitches,
and i interpret the bitches as you.

I know what they say, but do you..?

Author: Matthew Sackey