07-18-2012, 03:54 AM
The grey, blacked-out, path of a thousand followers,
Thousand, million voice the facts, opinions thrown to the side of them.
Stars chucked across black out skies;
Meteors, shooting stars, cast back down to earth;
Ripped from hollow headed mantels, hacked from orange damsels, far from distress,
The popular life, kids, mass-producers, controlled through made up, fantasized realisms,
Thrown with cigarettes, thrown with joints, thrown with drugs,
Torn from worn televisions with pictures of hallucinating public statues and tragic stories;
Lost boys with only a companion to the left and right, ridiculed by attractive organisms.
Forgotten with wars, visionaries and slavery,
Wasted youth, deteriorated from birth, the scolding mark in their mind, scaring them from loving, feeling and forgetting.
Wondering only in solitary packs, two or three at a time,
Called from non-existing phones, bursting with false friendships,
Only the laughter that comes from the pen, the ink that flows through naked bodies as red blood and memories,
Caught in safety nets which only exist in the imagination
Life’s which should be lived in day number one, not two,
Intimacy, romanticism, subsistence to the fashioned, crowd-pleasing, tasteless public's,
To where contemporary fools flush in hands full of insignificant and hopeful oblivion's.
Plucked from suburban prying hands,
Only to be thrown, chucked, abandoned,
Put out, rotting, the flesh of a thousand running down the iced out rivers,
Dead.
Thousand, million voice the facts, opinions thrown to the side of them.
Stars chucked across black out skies;
Meteors, shooting stars, cast back down to earth;
Ripped from hollow headed mantels, hacked from orange damsels, far from distress,
The popular life, kids, mass-producers, controlled through made up, fantasized realisms,
Thrown with cigarettes, thrown with joints, thrown with drugs,
Torn from worn televisions with pictures of hallucinating public statues and tragic stories;
Lost boys with only a companion to the left and right, ridiculed by attractive organisms.
Forgotten with wars, visionaries and slavery,
Wasted youth, deteriorated from birth, the scolding mark in their mind, scaring them from loving, feeling and forgetting.
Wondering only in solitary packs, two or three at a time,
Called from non-existing phones, bursting with false friendships,
Only the laughter that comes from the pen, the ink that flows through naked bodies as red blood and memories,
Caught in safety nets which only exist in the imagination
Life’s which should be lived in day number one, not two,
Intimacy, romanticism, subsistence to the fashioned, crowd-pleasing, tasteless public's,
To where contemporary fools flush in hands full of insignificant and hopeful oblivion's.
Plucked from suburban prying hands,
Only to be thrown, chucked, abandoned,
Put out, rotting, the flesh of a thousand running down the iced out rivers,
Dead.