Send Me Away

Oh sometimes I could just murder you.
Would you like a coffin with that?

Rise Against

What do you think an artist is? An imbecile who has only eyes if he is a painter, or ears if he is a musician, or a lyre in every chamber of his heart if he is a poet, or even, if he is a boxer, just his muscles? Far, far from it; at the same time, he is also a political being, constantly aware of the heartbreaking, passionate, or delightful things that happen in the world, shaping himself completely in their image. How could it be possible to feel no interest in other people, and with a cool indifference to detach yourself from the very life which they bring to you so abundantly? No, painting is not done to decorate apartments. It is an instrument of war.
-Russell Martin

Experimental Behaviour

I realize that I am just the result of an experiment, a victim. A drug administered to help save lives, or keep them sane. A cruel game in truth. 

Yet all that I'm feeling, experiencing, living...is true. It would be no different by any accounts, except for your word. 

So do not lie, scream or fight. Do not tell false truths in an effort to dissuade me from my point. I am not a doll, I have my own beliefs. I know you and I know exactly what I mean to say. 

And I intend to take my time.

Crime Scene

Boy, you sure know how to make a girl feel nice and abused.

L'avenir

I dislike the thought of the morrow.


And if you leave me, where do I go? Like a forgotten grave on a hilltop, who will remember where I lie? Cold and alone, under the earth. A lost soul. 

Even the dead forget.

It's A Quarantine

Sickness.

Infection, killing me slowly. 
Check my heart and take my blood. Red rivers making sure, a flood. 

My skin is fire, my veins are ice. My eyes are giving up the fight.
Infection, killing me slowly.

They have a name for it; they call it by
      y o u r n a m e
 

Ian Brown. Music of the Spheres.

It seemed clear to the Pythagoreans that the distances between the planets would have the same ratios as produced in harmonious sounds in a plucked string. To them, the solar system consisted of ten spheres revolving in circles about a central fire, each sphere giving off a sound the way a projectile makes a sound as it swished through the air: the closer spheres gave lower tones while the farther moved faster and gave higher pitched sounds. All combined into a beautiful harmony, the music of the spheres.

Abysmal

You hold a power over me that could rival the gods'. This soul, this breath of life. I belong to you.

And you belong to me; sweet moments shared. A fleeting glance in a crowd of people, a knowing smile in ancient words. Drifting souls, bound together in a memory, a photograph, and in hidden moments. Like a secret, though the truth be known, kept safe. A promise held deep and true. 

But to be together, alas no.

Shameful. Ugly. Embarrassing.

I am not a beast, I am no creature. I am a soul, innocent and beautiful. And you are the master, cruel and all-knowing. Completely aware of your every move, and they don't cause you pain. 

You feel nothing. 

How can you go on like this? Cold-hearted and empty towards the world. There must be something within you. Warmth, desire, need. But you push it all away and manipulate instead. 


But I'll never leave you.