When words go out of rhyme.
feeling: sad
music: five times august - perfectly
I haven't attempted any lyrics or poems in a long while. Either life has been horribly mundane, or my way of looking at things has. I wish I felt strongly enough to string a couple of words together to purge me of the emotional toxins within.
The painfully short life of pure unadulterated happiness. The inevitable slip into mediocre bliss. The hard and fast fall down to rock bottom and the almost instantaneous spring back to deliberate oblivion.
Here I am, in this long drawn spiral of pain and emancipation, nailed to the fence between numbed emptiness and carefree laughter.
Was mediocrity the cynic's answer to fulfillment? Or was it mediocre only because he was a cynic?
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