time: 3:55pm
music: show me love - t.a.t.u
mood: incoherent.
ode to twentyohtwo::
i'll remember the occasional song
1am trips for ice cream
getting you down the street in winter
even though you hated it
one day you'll remember me too
just the way i wasnt
---
how soon is now?::
of nothing in particular.
i am human.
finite traces, on infinite hands. you're making this so easy. like a hum of a train
in the distance; whirring on its tracks. a certain whisper of fake-destiny, or the intricate rush of oxygen underneath a birds wing.
holding us up, holding us up.
melodies given only to those which soar directly into the horizon at the speed of sound. your mistake. i am your mistake. the story you wrote.
the face you conjured. i am a dream within a dream,
the story, the end. hands tangled in a broken abyss of never-ever.we are mad here, as we watch the flowers melting.
do you still have doubts that us having faith makes any sense?
like a game of pick-up-sticks; played by freaky lunatics.
the sun and air of nothing in particular.
out of sight. out of mind. out of time, to decide.
do we run? should we hide? for the rest of our lives?
can we fly? do we stay? we could lose. we could fail.
and the more time we take, to make plans and mistakes.
carousels in the skies,
that we shape with our eyes.
under shades, paint silhouttes casting shadows on crying rain.
either way, options change. chances fade.
chased dreams.
make up my mind,
finally decide,
whisper your name,
shoulder the blame,
of blithering lies,
to finally decide.
just like everybody else does.
i am human.
finite traces, on infinite hands. you're making this so easy. like a hum of a train
in the distance; whirring on its tracks. a certain whisper of fake-destiny, or the intricate rush of oxygen underneath a birds wing.
holding us up, holding us up.
melodies given only to those which soar directly into the horizon at the speed of sound. your mistake. i am your mistake. the story you wrote.
the face you conjured. i am a dream within a dream,
the story, the end. hands tangled in a broken abyss of never-ever.we are mad here, as we watch the flowers melting.
do you still have doubts that us having faith makes any sense?
like a game of pick-up-sticks; played by freaky lunatics.
the sun and air of nothing in particular.
out of sight. out of mind. out of time, to decide.
do we run? should we hide? for the rest of our lives?
can we fly? do we stay? we could lose. we could fail.
and the more time we take, to make plans and mistakes.
carousels in the skies,
that we shape with our eyes.
under shades, paint silhouttes casting shadows on crying rain.
either way, options change. chances fade.
chased dreams.
make up my mind,
finally decide,
whisper your name,
shoulder the blame,
of blithering lies,
to finally decide.
just like everybody else does.
...
word's in, faie's splashed on front cover of BH for almost-accidentally hit by killer-trash. ha-ha! two words: DUDE!! oh. thats one word. parents are out and i'm home on a saturday jumping to las ketchup's with the junior. i love the weather. shambles and kinster perusing over the unrelatedness of homebase. i'm not alone. i'm not alone. at least i'm not alone.
toodles you peoples =]
