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Dirtyseal
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1
confined to a room inside my psyche
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light reflects direct at pupils to spite me
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rightly, time to board windows to existence
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in an effort to approach coming days with less resistance
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I can see your shadow, image means even less
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with a soliloquy of similes you spark to impress
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I'm dejected by the fact I hear them through these walls
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I feel rejected but intact from all the demons it lulls
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strumming chords to a broken soul, self-righteous repentance
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with full acceptance of the future he now sees as a sentence
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if I was feeling your fantasy, to life I'd derive
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given the chance to glance at me, I know you'd never survive
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I show you walls and you can sing to them, awaiting the day
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that I might greet you at the door to make the clouds go away
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simply to say that that's impossible
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the lifestyle I've chosen has left corrosion, now my woes are inoperable
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(chorus:)
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it's everything
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it's everything- his wings have returned
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it's like the fall of competition, like he's never been burned
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it's nothing
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it's nothing, just a passing effect
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although it had some inspiration, it was all indirect
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it's everything
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it's everything, it warms the heart
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it was complete compatibility, communed from the start
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it's nothing
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temptation only time reserves
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because it's everything he wants and nothing that he deserves
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the rain splashes off our faces
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but every time I leave the room, it's like the wind's trying to chase us
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haste creates nothing but trash, and so says a maxim
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with significance on minutes for the person who lacks them
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paints the portrait of disparity with passing breath
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and formulates the frivolities that will fashion his death
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depressed, little to no light now enters the room
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but our protagonist's an agonist for leaving too soon
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and when he does exit, she always makes him at home
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when he returns, he drags the weight of sad states that he owns
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he writes poems, hoping someday that they might be read
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even dictates them verbatim right off the top of his head
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like an unconscious force has found fuel within his suffering
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begging her to break barricades and start discovering
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two egos interact and distraction's the game
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because the second she steps in the room, she won't be the same
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(chorus)
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it's becoming more apparent, she's intrigued by the room
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smart enough for suspicions but not sure what to assume
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he tightens up his defenses, reinforces, refutes
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and just like spinning propellers, his dialogue convolutes
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instituting further intrigue, it could have been deliberate
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searching for responsiveness from every single syndicate
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all in attempts to increase internal merit
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if the rhetoric decreases, it's the beast that he'll inherit
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overwhelmed and narcissistic, time will claim it and wear it
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sweating the heat of identity- he can no longer bear it
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maybe a dream or maybe conscious, the face will return
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that causes spasms of synapses and the muscles to burn
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opaque eyes, warped disguise, there is approach without motion
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o warning, light fades, darkness starts to encroach him
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he only questions whether he was even given a choice
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but as he writes, a thought strikes, maybe she was the voice
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oh god, what if she was?
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what was she trying to tell me?
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(chorus)
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