Beauty lies in only the most evil of eyes.
Saturday, September 9, 2017
Shaken, not Stirred
Why can't you feel it, too?
Don't you see that there is danger here?
There are people everywhere, people pretending to be people, but they aren't people.
I'm not bothered
I'm alert
I'm afraid
I'm shaken
I'm not stirred
I see these faces, and they aren't smiling faces
They aren't real faces either.
One foot in front of the other, keep it moving-
There isn't much further to go- I know that because I can hear the feedback from the mic-
check check check from the artist who thinks he's an artist because he imitates an artist-
flattery, right?
I hold onto the sleeve of my shirt because I feel like the wind that is blowing may rip me out of my own skin. I can hear that I am breathing, but am I really breathing if it sounds like I'm screaming and not breathing?
Everyone pushes forward in a line that isn't moving and my personal space becomes their personal space and I wish I could be in space... where nobody else is.
Here comes the guilt- the guilt that I should be smiling- grinning ear to ear- even though that's how close we are now- standing EAR TO EAR- because we're suppose to be enjoying this moment- together.
I have to go- I say- I have to go home- and so you hand me the key. The key to happiness is that you can't take your key to leave- the key is to forget your key so you stay.
My fingers are numb now but it isn't cold. My fingers are numb, because I can't loosen my grip on this key or my shirt sleeve, and I think how I wish I could be numb myself. I grow jealous of my fingers, but only for a moment because-
Now you're mad. You're mad at me because I'm a freak and I can't stop being jealous or scared or whatever it is that you think I am- and I'm mad that you're mad because I'm not a mad man- I
I just want to be protected from this place- this place and these people who are pretending to be people but aren't really people-
You're the only one who knows me- really knows how fucked up this place in between my ears really is- the only one who knows me because I don't see a friendly or familiar face- the only one who knows me because you can see this turmoil building up even though it's silent-
but you can't protect me, because you don't want to protect me- you want to protect yourself from having to protect me
because I'm always shaken
Something is always wrong
and the weary grow weary of the those who are weary
and the only thing I can say is I'm sorry
Don't you see that there is danger here?
There are people everywhere, people pretending to be people, but they aren't people.
I'm not bothered
I'm alert
I'm afraid
I'm shaken
I'm not stirred
I see these faces, and they aren't smiling faces
They aren't real faces either.
One foot in front of the other, keep it moving-
There isn't much further to go- I know that because I can hear the feedback from the mic-
check check check from the artist who thinks he's an artist because he imitates an artist-
flattery, right?
I hold onto the sleeve of my shirt because I feel like the wind that is blowing may rip me out of my own skin. I can hear that I am breathing, but am I really breathing if it sounds like I'm screaming and not breathing?
Everyone pushes forward in a line that isn't moving and my personal space becomes their personal space and I wish I could be in space... where nobody else is.
Here comes the guilt- the guilt that I should be smiling- grinning ear to ear- even though that's how close we are now- standing EAR TO EAR- because we're suppose to be enjoying this moment- together.
I have to go- I say- I have to go home- and so you hand me the key. The key to happiness is that you can't take your key to leave- the key is to forget your key so you stay.
My fingers are numb now but it isn't cold. My fingers are numb, because I can't loosen my grip on this key or my shirt sleeve, and I think how I wish I could be numb myself. I grow jealous of my fingers, but only for a moment because-
Now you're mad. You're mad at me because I'm a freak and I can't stop being jealous or scared or whatever it is that you think I am- and I'm mad that you're mad because I'm not a mad man- I
I just want to be protected from this place- this place and these people who are pretending to be people but aren't really people-
You're the only one who knows me- really knows how fucked up this place in between my ears really is- the only one who knows me because I don't see a friendly or familiar face- the only one who knows me because you can see this turmoil building up even though it's silent-
but you can't protect me, because you don't want to protect me- you want to protect yourself from having to protect me
because I'm always shaken
Something is always wrong
and the weary grow weary of the those who are weary
and the only thing I can say is I'm sorry
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