Old vision dims the light from my memory, and I’m color blind to the beauty surrounding me. Art forms begin taking forms of fallen leaves. On autumn breeze, they float away, condemn the trees. Is it worthwhile? Vacant houses, vacant eyes. It’s all the same. They open up to you, who don’t care to know their names. I have spent my nights falling short, feeling my fingers contort into concrete casts avoiding selfcontact. And I guess that might explain why the cursor hasn’t moved in days. It’s so tragic, our perception. Anxiety and discordance alone were never enough to satisfy the disenchantment I’ve come to know. Feeling alone when I’m not alone, this hindrance is my own. With a badge sewn into my skin, angled walls I recoil in. I spend all this time screaming and fiending all meaning. Nothing comes of it. And nothing comes easy. And nothing has worth.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
