25 January, 2006
(0 ) 09:35 I'm digging my own grave. Every spadeful of laughter, happiness and joy that I see just makes it deeper. The earth moves like blood in my hands, a fluid graininess that has seized the soil, until even I began to feel it drip and stain me red.
My life is sadness. With happiness interspersed throughout as mere stopgap measures to prevent insanity from creeping in. But black always bleeds, this ever-consuming entity that seems to have a mind of its own, into a grey wasteland that goes on for an eternity without end. There are no trees, no textures, no twittering birds, just mile upon mile (American, I know, but kilometre upon kilometre just doesn't cut it) of the same, flat monochrome.
Most of the time you stand in the periphery of my vision. You are holding a knife between your trembling fingers. And every time you hear laughter that is not mine, the blade goes straight to my heart, in and out, clinical and precise, the pain shooting upwards like lightning, a bitter aftertaste in my mouth. I could have run away, I could have shirked from your strike, I know you would not follow, but still I sit, unyielding, as the knife opens new wounds as old ones heal, stabbing, stabbing, until my blood just doesn't know where to flow anymore.
I try to look up at your face when you're doing this, but I can't see. My eyes are hazed by pain and tears. Maybe you were the one laughing all this time.
My life is sadness. With happiness interspersed throughout as mere stopgap measures to prevent insanity from creeping in. But black always bleeds, this ever-consuming entity that seems to have a mind of its own, into a grey wasteland that goes on for an eternity without end. There are no trees, no textures, no twittering birds, just mile upon mile (American, I know, but kilometre upon kilometre just doesn't cut it) of the same, flat monochrome.
Most of the time you stand in the periphery of my vision. You are holding a knife between your trembling fingers. And every time you hear laughter that is not mine, the blade goes straight to my heart, in and out, clinical and precise, the pain shooting upwards like lightning, a bitter aftertaste in my mouth. I could have run away, I could have shirked from your strike, I know you would not follow, but still I sit, unyielding, as the knife opens new wounds as old ones heal, stabbing, stabbing, until my blood just doesn't know where to flow anymore.
I try to look up at your face when you're doing this, but I can't see. My eyes are hazed by pain and tears. Maybe you were the one laughing all this time.
When I got tired of running from you
I stopped right there to catch my breath
There your words they caught my ears
You said, “I miss you son. Come home”
And my sins, they watched me leave
And in my heart I so believed
The love you felt for me was mine
The love I’d wished for all this time
And when the doors were closed
I heard no I told so’s
I said the words I knew you knew
Oh God, Oh God I needed you
God all this time I needed you, I needed you
- I So Hate Consequences, Relient K