~By Stephen Blackwood
Lyrics known & some verses of my own,
With the walls of my home,
With a constant taste of loneliness on my tongue,
What it feels like to be loved,
To be honest,
I’m not completely alone,
For with me there is this shadow,
which wherever I go seems to follow;
& there are these walls of my home.
But it’s the first time I’ve spent so much time with my own,
That how it feels to live- with the one you hate the most,
Like the scratch on the roof of my mouth,
Which will heal if I can just stop tonguing it.
There’s a pleasure in this pain,
which I’ve grown addicted to.
And the pain?
Is it worth the kicks I get off it?
I love this pain so much,
I almost welcome it,
For I’m addicted to the numbness it leaves,
When it finally leaves.
Like a shore left thrashed by the waves,
Waves which now recede.
It does leave me wanting for more, but right now I’m too numb to speak.
Like a man on his deathbed,
Yearning for his last kiss.
A kiss, which he won’t be receiving.
There’s a solace from this sorrow,
Which I won’t be seeking,
For the pain is my friend
& the pleasure’s too deceiving.
What’s the point?
When living is no different from dying?
When the living are,
No different from the dying?