Poison.
It is that, and nothing more.
It was fine yesterday
till they took over . . .
Wrapped their greedy, engulfing hands around my mind,
Leaving it in Cold, Cold Poison.
The poison of Insanity.
The hands of Thought.
The ever-reaching, ever-isolating hands . . .
of circling, never-ending Thought.
Penetrating reality and dancing in my head;
Funneling, Distracting, Injecting . . .
Flowers become memories,
Memories become Pain,
Pain becomes the absolute reign of Thought.
And at night it holds me
from mental rest.
Like the bars that hold the criminal,
Like the earth that nourishes the weed.
Diverting me, posessing me, dominating my life.
The poison flows,
into me . . .
isolating me . . .
Spiraling, Draining . . .
As if it thought me to be its escape.
To be its victim.
I absorb it.
It feeds my craving for something beyond me.
Burning, Screaming, Poisoning Pain.
Because I am unimportant
I cause no Pain . . .
Therefore I am merely its drain . . .
Its target . . .
The poison burns me.
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Automatic lens-eye
Widens contracts
I watch your eye watch
Predatory cyborganic surveyor
Capturing a moment
The instant consumed
Instinct shuts down
Zoom lens turns off
And blood-kill wanes
To pussy-foot contentment
It’s saturdaynight
-and- everything seems to be allright.
The stars above are still in place
-and- I find myself staring…at a familiar face.
It’s a quarter past seven
-and- I’ve been here sinds half past eleven.
Life still goes on at its usual pace
-and-my thoughts wander off…to outer space.
Has the world turned upside-down?
‘Cause nothing seems to make sense anymore.
Have my questions been answered?
When will time reveal our secret lives
-and-expose the story we kept…hidden inside?
Are we waiting for the moment of glory
That will polish-up our pride?
It’s a man made heaven
At a quarter past seven.
My cosy hiding-place
To escape the crazy rat-race.
Another saturdaynight
-and-being here is outta sight!
A dream has made me understand
I’m a raindrop in a desert land.
I’m gone as soon as I arrive
-and-all I leave behind…in this life
is a memory that stays
-and- a vaguely familiar face.
Words & Music
all written in 1999. By Michel Martis
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