Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Truth Deficient

I don't know what to make of this,
the show you like to put on,
pretending to be something else
than the one thing you are good for.

You stretch the truth with such skill
it's hard to find the edges,
or signs that give you up until
your skyscraper collapses.

You build your lies with little truths
you've morphed into submission
making it hard to find the clues
beyond all recognition.

And in your darkest moments
you're the blind leading the lame
you're your own worst oponent
but you delegate the blame.

It's hard to be responsible
for all your past mistakes
when everyone's disponible
to hide the truth away.

And in the end you'll find the flaw
in your illusion's grand design
that you can't reverse your own law
when you're feeling so inclined.

Saturday, October 6, 2012

Beating a Dead Horse

Here's to every story
we will never make
to those glossy sounds
that give way
to the break
Cross your fingers
close your eyes
There is nothing
stopping you
so don't wait
I have dug my nails in
too many ways
And my teeth have grated
your skin
I have picked apart
all the separate parts
And drawn the music out
as my bitter reward
So here's to every story
we will never make
to those glossy sounds
swallowed up by the break