Shit.
04Ago09
i’m painting a portrait of a man that doesn’t exist
all day long
it’s night already
i’m painting a portrait of a man that doesn’t exist
i’m painting his eyes now
and his eyes are not funny
at all
and i’m painting his smile
all night long and on
i’m painting a portrait of a man that doesn’t exist
keep going on
going on
i’m painting a portrait of a man that doesn’t exist
that doesn’t exist
shit
i’m painting a portrait of a man that doesn’t exist
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The Anthology of his Waking Dream
At the dawn of dreams
The evading scream
And shattering blades
The morning jams
Around, the fumes
Of unearthy domes
We shall ablaze
Appeasing the gates
Of such a stormy ground
May we forget
And we shall remain
At the back
Unwanting deities
And who else might say
That I exist
But my own
Engaging guns
Erasing nuns
Draining dunes
And drilling brains
It’s said
To never end
What is this place?
Shall the fly take me back
Or show me all the way
To other spheres
And shall I return
I will tell you none
Or at least not all
Of the truth I’ve seen
Its unspeakable being
Its foreign deed
Oh, I return to bed
To lay to rest
To disguise the lie
I have been told once
Shall I forget
I now depress
Over the edge
May I not fall