comfyquiet

A cloud without you is only a clod.

It’s quite a company. It’s quiet company.

Even then, more than a year earlier, there were neurons in her head, not far from her ears, that were being strangled to death, too quietly for her to hear them. Some would argue that things were going so insidiously wrong that the neurons themselves initiated events that would lead to their own destruction. Whether it was molecular murder or cellular suicide, they were unable to warn her of what was happening before they died.

And her laughter was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering.

If I always told you the truth, I wouldn’t need you to trust me.

Love me slow, hallucinating

The lines that are dots, The beginning of us and others.

The lines that are drawn, We dare not cross those borders.

The lines that are smudged, With hesitation and commiserations.

The lines that are erased, As we carry on after our actions.

You honour the dead by going on. Even when you’re scared. You live because they don’t get to.

With facts what’s important is their weight and accuracy. Warmth is secondary.

The Machine is meddlesome Tugging at the heartstrings of masses Through illusory promises of glory and grandeur. And they sway, These victims of gravity.

And they fall. Everyone falls, why wouldn’t they? The Machine’s orchestra weaves a mesmerising tune And I just wish they’d stop dancing, To look at what remains behind.

The few that are often forgotten. Unwanted specks in a carpet full of dust The whimper in a rowdy crowd Because they wouldn’t or couldn’t Accept the Machine’s construct.

Such is the consequence When the journey’s reward Matters more than the trek ever could. Values are vanity, Living is swimming upstream And the rest can drown.

I refuse to play a part in the Machine’s theatre. I’d like to believe, We can live by our own trinkets and devices But my weary eyes have seen enough to know better. All I want is to howl at the daylight’s moon And sleep with a smile on my face.