Mist on the Mirror

you are the story I tell
to the walls and the wisdom
in hell
there are tulips ready and waiting
for the funerals that we end up hating
the rivers we live in
the cries of yesterday
the fuel to the fires we breathe in
it will all go away
soon enough
there will only be dust
there will only be leftovers
rust
from the ashes of society
well then
in the dead we trust
in the black barrens of religion
and lust
we tumble down into tragedy
trembling with fear and misfortune
you see it clearly now don’t you
you sack of wine
you bumbling fool
you are the cause for concern
you
have done it all
you are cruel
and yet I know
your reasons are mine
you are the line I mark
between hell and high heaven
mythical wonderments that do not live
they are not real
to you I give it all
all the world and monsters within
all the rules we’ve broken again
all this time
you knew it was me
and you broke it anyway
the ghost on the table
the chess set of rose petals
blissfully unaware of the death that you share
you drove straight into darkness
lost control of the pedals
and gave it all away
it was you sweet lunatic
we bathe in the madness of yesteryear
wanting more
finding less
to give ourselves
so that we may live on in lunacy
these are the stories we live
the boredom we give
the wisdom, the truth
they are nothing
a shiv
in the sides of our forebears
wonderment rose up and fell
say goodbye today
because all stories fade away

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