Down in the Gaze of Solemnity

Macabre vision... as if in a Tim Burton movie.
Shadowy looks that speak of light if you stare long enough.
May your heart be clean so you wont be turned to stone.
A mind that speaks in worms. Them eating only the scoria that didnt let you feel just feel. Worm-eaten.
Behind me I think its dark. So I curl up hiding my hands of what Im doing.
Like a little demon with eyes so wide you think they will pop out.
Lust is never enough
I am just exposing my heart with these hands.
But it is never dark its just these thoughts that make me so different from the ones around me.

A cave of bats is what this life is.
Past times come to haunt you with cat eyes like and grab your hands as they drag you under the bed
Only in dreams, only in dreams
Then they hide behind walls and loom from far away enough to see the cold stare that leaves you dead.
Ive decided not to look and Ive almost decided not to sleep or sleep to deep.
Useless that I do... finding myself tired and soaked in

I wish for once to stay in bed without those lurking garden gnomes slashing my legs with their infamous rakes..
Theres one who always stands with a pipe. Doing nothing but stare
Dont think Im crazy I am just too perceivable.

Theres really beauty in nightmares
Although most look like Tim Burtons productions they still have some beauty that evokes thoughts of them while you are awake I am fully awake and out of bed lest the gnomes come again.

Macabre.. morbid, sick, unhealthy, dreams.
Ill-fated hours in bed that Ive spent on my own
I need to be held away from loneliness and solitude. They are never the same you know? And what is more they never get along.
render your heart to me
(So rip them away from my skin and take them away in veins. Steal them away from me and run up to the highest apex and let the wind take them away... come back in storms that will only bring me closer to be... with you.)

somewhere lost in life, chained slaves that I drag I move at their pace not them at mine
creepy hums that they make with tambourine effects
setting the pace, setting the pace continuous fallacy.
Pure fallacy
all my fallacy words

I shall turn back now.. to where the light shines and gnomes are no more but ceramic figurines that can be crushed.
To where sound society likes to pretend everythings well and they are all safe. All better then.
(I will go back to being my own monster.)
On a day where I woke up crying for the death of trust...

Ada Morales