{.. Story Time ..}

.

the melodic destruction of innocence,

so sweet,


this song we weave and mold, a tangle, like a spider's web. Something beckons, it calls aloud, the trumpet sounds above all else, and no one is free to go.
I have this vendetta, and it is not veracious or vexed. It is valiant and valid to it's vicarious visions of vice. Not malice nor hate, but a certain hold on which we cannot break nor confront.
You wish to ignore, but it tugs, like the hook caught in lip. You swim so hard to be caught in the net, but they wont cook you, they keep you, and train you as a pet.

Who really cares what's right, all so wrong... knowing truth doesn't make it better. Knowing love's true deception, an anarchists dream, to set this world ablaze, but not by fire, and not by knowledge, but by the sin of which I am fallen and you trudge and bleed next to me... crawl, belly down, through mud and thorns.

Your stomach cut, torn and bleeding, but a satisfaction that cannot be taken by a mere show of force. We do not deal in physical torment, but that of which there is no cure or remedy, no patch can cover and no medicine to solve.... an emotional disaster, a flaunting of one's own weakness, the manipulation of another's emotions, the test of his mental capacity, but knowing the key is not holding it. The beauty is everyone is susceptible to it on one level or another, and knowing that you are isn't the first step in avoiding it... the game.... the reason for life..... the life.... why we play the game. If life is a game, and the game is life.... then what is to stop this tsunami of ever present failure? only one wins, or does everyone win? Maybe.... though.... nihilism.... no one lives... and who am I to say who does and who doesn't and who are you to think you have or have not?

Then again does it truly matter, your opinion? It is merely based on speculation of the party the opinion favors, and opinion is not fact, and that's a fact.... This tornado of turbulence, a hurricane of hostile environments, strikes fear, delves deeper tan imagined, superseds everything known, but what truly is known? A grave so shallow the rain swept the corpse on out, now a home to two little field mice, braving the elements to make a life where death once lay. Who knows what will become of their struggle... no one cares to record it, and they are too small and unimportant to be remembered... "thank you though, for keeping the fire lit and the chair warm," I said to them when I crawled back up the hill to rest my head, so dreary and soaked, mud splattered on cheek and eyes red with the fresh burning of anger, so what..... so what...... sooooooo not.....

not the way you tell me to lie down and play dead, these little melodies you've stuck them in my head... I've heard that tune before, like the crashing of waves, to the ocean floor... so meticulous, and precise, you think it were alive.... to tell the tale, your little white lies, I watched you change, right before my eyes... who are you to leave me.... who are you to try... break me down and paralyze... and wishing I said goodbye.... stranded with nothing left, you want to take it all... I can give you more and more, just let me take the fall.... I'll blame it all on me, you just wait and see.... you'll come out clean as a whistle, not a single burr or thistle.... I can't see the tarnished paint you've worn, painted over so well, like a baby new-born.... it shines so nice, so nice and oh so bright... I will keep this going, until this feeling's right.... I can feel it coming over me, crashing and smashing like a tidal wave... this current's running faster still, I'll erase you with a tiny white pill... all a memory faded and burnt to a crisp... swept away by the breeze, forgotten like a whisp... but I guess it was all a lie, cuz when I think about you... I just can't deny, I still get that twinkle in my eye....