it's like looking at an old-new world with ideals shaved and shorn
and it's like knowing all the exact words to a song you've never heard
it's like wearing brand-new canvas shoes with history paint'd and smeared
it's like seeing every surface change that renders us estranged
and then feeling like we've just come home and nothing's really changed
how our words return to haunt us.
how our tropes recur.
images, images. drummer boys tossing their drumsticks-- a sight that brought on laughter even amid my sudden unlooked for tears; fancy drill; words in dust, like a mispelled name so long and long ago.
this used to be 2daredevils
oh, my heart aches. but i have nothing left to feel with, nothing left to give, and a whole world of jaded soul-weariness to suffocate in.
turn out the light, give me my darkness, my blessed oblivion