So Alone

It's late at night
And you need somebody
To talk to
But who of all those people
That you once knew
And if you called
Just what would you say
Would you break down
Straight away

You're so alone
You want to die
And nobody knows

You keep leaving messages
That don't say anything
Like: "Hi, how's it going?"
Pretending you're okay
You disguise your fear
So you don't scare them away
You don't want to go to sleep
Because the nightmares
Keep you awake

Your heart
Is beating strangely
Nausea and pains
Throughout your body

You're so alone
You want to die
And nobody knows

You're so alone
You want to die
And nobody knows

You're so alone
You're so alone
In the night
When people go home

You're so alone
You're gonna die
And nobody knows

You've told everyone
Who ever meant
Anything to you
To please just go away
And now you've got nobody
What are you supposed to do
It's getting late
And the night
Is getting darker
And you're fading away

You're fading away

And you're
Talking to yourself
Is this really happening?
And I'm talking to myself
Is anybody listening?

You're so alone
You want to die
And nobody knows

- Juliana Hatfield

The Finish Line?

How? How do I break in?
How does one enter this maddening barrier?
Colours swarming, patterns without structure,
This silence, deafening everything!

A bridge once more I build,
Only once again to wither into dust
In this toil of bondage sweat pours from my brow
How long can I grit my crackened dead teeth before I eat them all?

Slowly the burden weighs more
My spine now curved and twisting, groaning in pain,
This ballast is almost unbearable
No words of help aid me

Running endlessly for answers, my legs burning
The flames of muted responses boil my aching feet
Still I run, the hope of light... is it even real?
Or am I going in circles?

My cries for help become a repititious background noise
Rebounding off cold stone walls
My pleas echo into the black distance
These attempts... Are they truly futile?

Have I reached the finish line? Am I at the end, or the beginning?

The Deadened Silence.

Your muted fearful silence
Lacerates through my mind
Deafening my bleeding ears with its echoes
Ghosts of my past screech, an icy cold wind

Those cold oceanic eyes
That dead unfocused stare
Pale lips, the lifeless words
Do they mean anything anymore?

You hunger for love
Yet existing in loneliness
You long for embrace
Clutch tightly key to your grey prison

Cold and bloodless body, turned to stone
Forever intact your shield seperates me
I long to hold you, encircle your frozen limbs
To warm you as my heart beats finally to a still.

Regression

Where there was once light
Now is only darkness.

Where was once hope
Is now hopelessness.

Where once was movement, direction
Now is locked, trapped.

Where once was a dream of completeness
Now seems a vision of gaping empty holes.

Where once I breathed life again,
Now I exist in stagnation, rotting her with my very heart.

Disintegration.

Always frowning
Never sleeping
Always thinking
Never moving

When will this end?
When will I feel secure again?
When will the sky turn from awful obsidian to blue again?
When will I calm, breathe a sigh of relief?

Always problems
Always uneasy
Always questioning
Never accepting.

When will I smile, lapse safely into sleep at last?
When will I no longer ponder?
When will I become who you fell in love with?
When will everything stop disintegrating?

Weak.

With you I'm complete
Life floods with colour
Sounds saturated with tone
Resonating with the happiness of every shred of my being

The most beautiful thing ever to exist
Unparalled in the entire world
More loving than I could ever conceive of
And accepting of every part of me

Why do I crumble, cracking at every corner
Becoming a shapeless powder
Collapsed into grey dust
Ashen, colourless and nondescript.

Why do my arms flail
Feeling like I miss every chance to embrace you?
How have I have lost my balance so quickly
Where once I stood firmly and in comfort?

How did I fall apart like this?

We've Lost Control.

How the hell can we take someone whose creative fire lasts such a short period as a posthumous prodigy?

How come we never thought of the arty bullshit while said artist was alive? They were never revered while alive, why all these fantastical conclusions now?

How is it that we draw conclusions from statements never conceived of nor uttered by the artist, and rather from heresy via magazine articles and various media, which later become blown out of all proportion and then martyred decades later?

Is it our nature to seek meaning from nothing? Are we so lost that we consistently need to make up bullshit in order create direction when in reality there actually isn't any anyway?

So this is what our society has become, an exaggeration based on fiction?

Bit Part (Dando/Morgan)

I want a bit part in your life,
A walk-on would be fine.
I just want a bit part in your life,
(A bit part in your life).

I want a bit part in your life,
Rehearsing all the time.
I just want a bit part in your life,
(A bit part in your life).

Little more than a cameo
Nothing traumatic when I go

I want a bit part in your life
A walk on would be fine
I just want a bit part in your life
I want a bit part in your life
Rehearsing all the time I just want a bit part in your life
A little more than a stand in
Won't need repremanding