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concretetruth's Journal

Created on 2007-12-09 18:09:22 (#14425693), last updated 2009-06-30

15 comments received, 138 comments posted

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14 Journal Entries, 3 Tags, 0 Memories, 0 Virtual Gifts, 2 Userpics

Basic Info

Name:	concretetruth
Birthdate:	05-18
Website:	http://www.myspace.com/_ragdoll

Bio

There's a man holding a megaphone, he must have been the voice of god. The bystanders claimed they saw angels flying up and down the block. They must have been attached to wires, I seen one laying in the lawn with a broken arm, so I called 911. Well that's one less founded opinion, one more cause for a dispute so the streets filled like a basin up with cameras and their crews. And they washed away the rumors leaving just the concrete truth. It was a spectacle, no-o I mean a miracle.
So I fell like that girl from a balance beam, a gymnasium of eyes all were holding onto me. I lifted one foot to cross the other and I felt myself slipping, it was a small mistake. Sometimes that's all it takes.

Now I'm staring at my wrist, hoping that the timing's right when the planets will align, there'll be no planets to align, just the carcass of the sun, and little painted marbles spinning senseless through an endless black sky.

It was in the foreign hotel bathtub I baptized myself in change. And one by one I drowned all of the people I had been. I emerged to find the parallels were fewer, I was cleansed. I looked in the mirror and someone new was there. But I was as helpless as a chess piece, when I was lifted up by someone's hand, and delivered from the corner my enemies had got me in. But in all of my salvation, I still felt imprisoned inside that holding cell, that is myself.

So I'll wait for the day when I'll hear the key, as it turns in the lock and the guard will say to me: oh my patient prisoner you've waited for this day and finally you are free, you are free, you are freezing.

Now I'm staring at the sun, waiting for it to explode, because a day is gonna come, don't know when but it will come, and we'll finally know the way out of here. And I'll throw away this wrinkled map, my charts of stars and compass cracked, then I'll climb that tree all wet with sap to avoid the hungry beasts below. I'll cut out my lovers tongue and sing of a graveyard gray and a garden green and we won't have to worry no more. No we won't have to wonder again about how this song or story ends, about how this song and story will end.