At a path of disquiet, I crossed swords with I friend, and with the blunt blade of mine I’ve slain him.
I never wanted to hurt him, but we crossed at the worst possible timing. In that moment I knew something about myself that I didn’t know before. I was about to give it all up, leaving him walk his knife through me, but as a last act of survival I turned it into a moment of reversal. A reversal of fortune, and I walked over his failing body.
Now, it is behind me and to my belief behind him too.
Now, it looks like it’s destined to happen all over again…
I’ve seen her one day in a spring time, she didn’t see me. I made sure. I’ve followed and I’ve learned. She’s a beauty in an undefinable way. She is a perplexing beauty.
Then when we talked, I gazed at her eyes, and I knew that moment that I gazed in an abyss. The kind of abyss that I love to bath, blend and alloy within, an abyss that can be that of Joy and levity or that of despair.
At what point is self-recognition especially that of plights we’ve been through becomes self-pity? I’m not sure if I know, but I’ve had my share of despair. I can’t or rather won’t take anymore.
As we walk we’re destined to cross, and as I cross me and my friend it feels like we’re going to collide again. Another path of disquietude.
I can leave him to run his knife through me again, not fight it like I did the last time, as it’s my time to lay down and kiss his blade.
But, if I let myself lay down this time it will annihilate me.
Talk to me friend, how do we give the knife slowly, you’ve done before, maybe you even had it coming for what you did, but maybe I made you what you are. How do you like to talk your knife, do you want a blunt with a hammer like destruction, or a smooth sharp pointed edge to the heart?
I want the things that I want.
I’m weary of being slender and I’ve got to feed.
Wouldn’t want it to be your flesh, wouldn’t want the taste of your blood.
There was a time where I used to give it all. That time is gone, or it has to be gone. It was never against you. It’s a matter of being.
I want the things I want.
I keep singing this to myself, or maybe to the possibility of my friend.
It’s not your fault,
It’s not your fault.
I’m not human at all,
I’ve got no heart.