Within the dreary ambitions of my youth, I'd lie awake at the deadest of hours and find the greatest dreams I had ever imagined.
They dwindle and wither.
They sway with the tortures of fear.
I unclenched, and removed my bite. The marks fading and untouched, taunting and mocking.
It's the godlessness and the dying. It's the money and the greed. It's the false sense of success and false sense of security.
Happiness is the straining of our necks and misery is the sound of them cracking.
There are the days to trudge forward from and there are nights to sit and sink. Imagining the end of consciousness and learning the right twists of the right rope. The later the hours, the further down a search in darkness. The search for new doors. The search for new roofs. Or the search for squeaking chairs to take steps up the twists of that rope.
They dwindle and wither.
They sway with the tortures of fear.
I unclenched, and removed my bite. The marks fading and untouched, taunting and mocking.
It's the godlessness and the dying. It's the money and the greed. It's the false sense of success and false sense of security.
Happiness is the straining of our necks and misery is the sound of them cracking.
There are the days to trudge forward from and there are nights to sit and sink. Imagining the end of consciousness and learning the right twists of the right rope. The later the hours, the further down a search in darkness. The search for new doors. The search for new roofs. Or the search for squeaking chairs to take steps up the twists of that rope.
