My Suffocation
By a lachrymist
abed with my lonely sorrow.I call this damp and darken hole my home.my inspiration runs from cold walls of soil.It surrounds me, and comforts me like some old friend.And I shake hands with this advocate, but it crumbles away and leaves me falling.I pick away the dirt from my fingertipsand wash away the time with this endless rocking.It makes me feel like I'm walking,but these walls keep following me 'roundWith each shallow breath I take,my lungs become dirt.So I reach for the ledge above me.grabbing for some kind of enlightened moment.where the light takes me and makes me strong.But my chimes cease to sound.Its like I'm slowly dying, or slipping into that endless dream.With my hands sunken into the soil,and my fingers caressed by the coldness,I pull my weaken body up towards the earth.But I keep falling from my fingers.Back within the darkness,the hole, this hell I call home. Written November 26th, 2001 © on Nov 26 2001 02:49 PM PST 0 • 9
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"abed with my lonely sorrow.I call this damp and darken hole my home.my inspiration runs from cold walls of soil.It surrounds me, and comforts me like some old friend.And I shake hands with this advocate, but it crumbles away and leaves me falling.I pick away the dirt from my fingertipsand wash away the time with this endless rocking.It makes me feel like I'm walking,but these walls keep following me 'roundWith each shallow breath I take,my lungs become dirt.So I reach for the ledge above me.grabbing for some kind of enlightened moment.where the light takes me and makes me strong.But my chimes cease to sound.Its like I'm slowly dying, or slipping into that endless dream.With my hands sunken into the soil,and my fingers caressed by the coldness,I pull my weaken body up towards the earth.But I keep falling from my fingers.Back within the darkness,the hole, this hell I call home...."