Still

Um, slightly depressing.

A life is just a single wink in time,

Like a star is just a star in the sky,

Like a rainbow is just an illusion of light,

Like a brain that is born,

To curl in on itself,

To shrivel and wither in the horror,

Of it's own inevitable demise.

 

But there is too much life,

And there is too much time,

Too much to cram inside,

Too much to gorge upon,

Too much of a future to feast,

Too much past upon which to ponder,

Too much now,

Too much nothingness,

Too many words,

Too many voices.

 

I am bloated,

I am gut-rot full,

Stuffed to the brim,

And too sick to vomit.

 

Time is the burning bile,

That squirms and boils inside my belly,

The poisoned oils that swim,

Through my veins,

Flooding my heart,

Dragging my heart further away,

From what?

 

And everyday I bleed a little more,

A blood-letting for a blood lust,

For a hungry God,

For a hungry Father,

For a hungry Mother.

 

And everyday we f**k,

And everyday we drink,

And everyday we consume and consummate,

And everyday we fail,

So we shed a little more of ourselves,

Add a little of our skins to the fire,

A tiny little death,

And so we begin to collapse.

 

A life is just a haunting,

A perpetual pisser,

The penultimate poltergeist,

A life is tired and it is bored,

Not even worth a single thought,

But it is fed ,

And so it thrives,

And so we live,

So we shall die,

A life is just a wink in time.

 

And there is love,

And we marvel silently,

At the genius of it's infection,

Pretending it's our secret,

It is the only perfect weapon,

To ever exist,

It is inpenetrable,

And you will never win,

But you will try again and again and again,

Until the day arrives when your tears will die.

 

Love is the sharpest point,

Of a curving blade,

And the smoothest sheen of it's deadly metal,

Love is a glutton,

Cutting and sucking away,

At the deepest marrow,

Of the sweetest bone,

Devouring by deception,

Eating only that which is alive.

 

Love does not love you,

Love cannot love itself,

It despises and curses itself,

It will turn against itself,

And it will crave hatred,

It will flirt and dance with pain,

Cling desperately to pain,

It will bathe in the blood of your bleedings,

And drown with glee,

Within the glories of your agony,

Because it is pain, not love,

That is the true glue of life.

 

And men will emulate Gods,

And men will attempt to become as Gods,

They will strive to be Gods,

And so they will create,

And they will cherish and protect their creations,

And so they will tear down and rip apart,

Everything they once held dear,

They will destroy all from the outside in,

Because they will never understand,

They are incapable of overthrowing their ignorance,

Of abolishing their bias,

Of embracing their fears.

 

They are hampsters running on a wheel,

Frantic, fake, dried up and desperate,

Not knowing that the only way to truly move,

Is to remain completely still,

But the cycle continues,

Right up to the moment they die,

When they realise they will never live on,

Through other people's eye's.