The Mountain Range
There's been one too many dreams of the past; a special place inside my head where all the little tidbits and outtakes of my memories can have their revenge. Dreams or nightmares - I don't know which anymore. It's been far too long missing someone; missing some days. There's nothing left to do but write a long forgotten letter. A present wrapped in a brown paper bag - words like jewels and confessions like gold - hidden behind a rough exterior.
How can a dream be perfect? How can images inside my subconscious mind make me react in such a way? I'm just flying and falling at the same time. Vertigo from not knowing what to say and not knowing how to act. Chemicals inside my cerebrum composing her touch - a blanket of warmth in my mind writing her every breath. The room is much too cold - the blankets have been pulled off - and the rumors of her have whispered silently into the blackness of 3:00 A.M. Maybe dreaming will bring her to me - maybe she's dreaming too. She always said she was a dreamer.
Shake off the morning; soften the dryness of my throat. Shake off the sleep and break off another bit of time wasted. She's still smiling beautifully behind my half-closed eyes. Maybe she'll be out in a few days.
I'm not sure how we are all doing - living our lives. I'm starting to really wonder if enough people are appreciating every single day of their life. Do they really enjoy their lives? Is there really a way to measure? Quantitative and cold. I know for sure the numbers are decreasing daily; I'm one of them. Robotic and programmed to routine; short-circuited by any thought of retaliation. Basic and based off a calendar. I need someone to share my demise with me; or pull me up out of darkness.
I need a like mind, or an inspiration. I need another lost soul, or another bright flame to help me find my way. I need a flickering beauty behind 35 milimeter film. I desire to share my readily overflowing heart with someone. Yes, another angsty teenger on another 'lonely road'. Why don't I pick up a guitar and write a song about it? Why not? Well, I've already written enough songs about that. They're all horrible as well. There might not be any songs worth writing anymore.
One day, this will all end. Someday, there will be more songs to write. Maybe we'll all find happiness, and we'll all stop complaining. Maybe one day we'll start loving and stop worrying. Heh, maybe some day soon. Maybe when we're all done tap dancing for an invisible audience, and stop building mountain ranges from our sadness...we'll finally find peace.
How can a dream be perfect? How can images inside my subconscious mind make me react in such a way? I'm just flying and falling at the same time. Vertigo from not knowing what to say and not knowing how to act. Chemicals inside my cerebrum composing her touch - a blanket of warmth in my mind writing her every breath. The room is much too cold - the blankets have been pulled off - and the rumors of her have whispered silently into the blackness of 3:00 A.M. Maybe dreaming will bring her to me - maybe she's dreaming too. She always said she was a dreamer.
Shake off the morning; soften the dryness of my throat. Shake off the sleep and break off another bit of time wasted. She's still smiling beautifully behind my half-closed eyes. Maybe she'll be out in a few days.
I'm not sure how we are all doing - living our lives. I'm starting to really wonder if enough people are appreciating every single day of their life. Do they really enjoy their lives? Is there really a way to measure? Quantitative and cold. I know for sure the numbers are decreasing daily; I'm one of them. Robotic and programmed to routine; short-circuited by any thought of retaliation. Basic and based off a calendar. I need someone to share my demise with me; or pull me up out of darkness.
I need a like mind, or an inspiration. I need another lost soul, or another bright flame to help me find my way. I need a flickering beauty behind 35 milimeter film. I desire to share my readily overflowing heart with someone. Yes, another angsty teenger on another 'lonely road'. Why don't I pick up a guitar and write a song about it? Why not? Well, I've already written enough songs about that. They're all horrible as well. There might not be any songs worth writing anymore.
One day, this will all end. Someday, there will be more songs to write. Maybe we'll all find happiness, and we'll all stop complaining. Maybe one day we'll start loving and stop worrying. Heh, maybe some day soon. Maybe when we're all done tap dancing for an invisible audience, and stop building mountain ranges from our sadness...we'll finally find peace.
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