|and watch is always appreciated.|
if life was a clicheif life was a cliché, i could tell that it feels likeif life was a cliche by la-nausee
heaven in here. marks of your presence, lingering in the
air like love letters, shopping lists for the
most important dinner party of your life or death
announcements. that it feels like heaven, thinking
of your hands slowly moving, a thousand raindrops against
the moon-soaked windows at a vivid lisbon night, we are
dancing in the rain, your lungs gasping for more air to tell
i love you, i feel like i'm shedding my worn-out cuticle
to grow wings. if life was a cliché,
you would teach me the feeling of walking on clouds.
if life was a cliché, i would not be lying in here,
the apprehension of a new day rising with the sun.
i would not be thinking that heaven is not
the strongest word to describe this little corner of the
world where i think of you and only you, properly named
my heart - i would not be thinking of your hands
like an old-time healer, kissing everything better
and filling up the holes left.
harder.i feel dizzy withharder. by la-nausee
the warmth of the pebbles under my
feet. living is hard,
but dying is harder.
one day, we will die. though
it sounds so big and pretentious and such a lie but
it will be on quiet evenings and
cold wars. it will be between children's laughs
and those trees that bloomed so beautifully but
too early and all
withered. we won't even know next winter.
one day, the sickening fear will
become something we can't heal
with cheery coffee fortunes. that day,
i will want to crawl beneath your
words for shelter. your words like seeds,
once planted they stand tall
and invincible and
out of the loop of time. i will be afraid.
kind of weird, the
thought that one day, i will turn
my head and you won't have any silly
jokes or witty remarks that i can
tuck into the pockets of my soul. i will
laugh along with the world,
but it won't resonate in the
room in me where i kept you.
living is hard, looking
through these unreachable
windows and watching it
pass by. the birds seem to
carry it awa
HeavenYou know the nagging feeling in your stomach, the one that always gets you in an old, gray, rectangle building? The one engulfing you as you try to tell your destination apart from many others that equally lack character? The one that validates itself when, after rummaging through corridors -the walls of which are invariably lined with footprints at the bottom- and flying through staircases, you end up in the wrong place?Heaven by la-nausee
Being the shitty navigator that I am, I had thought I would be spared from this personal hell of mine when the screen of the ticket vending machine dryly announced that I was admitted to heaven, seconds after I placed my hand on the biometric scanner. Go to room CN104 for your admission procedure.
I hadn't been able to make sense of the thin layer of dust on the scanner, though. I had wiped it on my stainless, glowing white toga and hadn't thought much about it - wish I did.
Maybe then I wouldn't be this shocked to find nobody in CN104. Or in the myriad of other place
Remember,remember,the fifth of november!|
The Gun powder, treason and plot.
I see of no reason why the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot.
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor,
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
-Edgar Allan Poe
Current Residence: Stuttgart