The hidden message
One day I noticed it:The first imperfection of the human mind.
Sung by a voice beneath the jazz.
The realisation of reality:
"
When I look back at my life,
I realise it was not a great one.
I see, in prospect of my prolonged death -
not the things I accomplished,
But clothes ripped to shreads on a fallen corpse.
A liver raped, a life lost
somewhere between the glooming stars and the demons of hell.
I had always wanted to be it all, even now
when I was lost and bleeding.
Hairlessly trapped in liquified vacuum.
In silent recognition of survival.
"
These words made me cry than.
And later, if I heard them again
(I still sometimes do)
played inside some random tune on the radio
- my hands would start to unnoticeably shake.
This particular fact of meaninglessness struck me
As if it had been me who had lived my life
in vain
Poetry by -embla-
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Written on 2006-11-26 at 13:28
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