Fuck the mirrors
The black coffee, hotter then hell.
I will raise my glasses for the mortals in this bitch,
'suz once my fuse been lit, there aint no comming back-
I don't think you dare to think the way I do.
Its not a eternal oblivion you'r facing-
It's yourself.
Others can judge you, but its the man in the mirror who deals the damage,
So.. why dont you... Kill the man- the imaginary man who stole you'r reflections?
An honest look, but a fragile shield.
Asha Ali - To Bed
Damn, these cold nights do me in
when I've had a long, long day.
't starts around seven, and by ten I'm climbing the walls,
thinking maybe I should call.
It's just this damn anxiety that toys with my sobriety
into thinking there's something to say
when what's left to say
it's all been said anyway.
we staid up till early morning and you walked out my door
and it felt like i was stalling with all my words on the floor
should have walked you home one last time
instead of going to bed.
and now it should be easy for me
to let someone new into my bed i think
so I, I go out to save aye aye, I go out and I drink.
but the smoky bars are never too kind,
never too late to remind
just how I still think about you
we staid up till early morning and you walked out my door
and it felt like I was stalling with all my words on the floor
please come touch my skin
with a hand of grace
take away all that i have to face
and tell that lie that can make this whole year fly by, fly by.
we'll stay up till early morning and you will walk out my door.
and it wont feel like I'm stalling with all my words on the floor
we'll stay up till early morning and you wont walk out my door.
and it wont feel like I'm stalling with all my words on the floor
and i walk you home, one last time instead of going to bed.
damn these cold nights, that keep doing me in
Själen som vägrade försvinna
med ditt adamsäpple knackande i min hand.
Kom igen- be om ursäkt för alla gångar du torkat av dina fötter på min själ!
Eller skit i det- jag sitter på alla ässen i leken nu.
Jag känner hur ditt saliv rinner ner över min handled-
hur dina rådjursögon krymper. Dina pupiller vidgas bortom möjlighet-
precis såsom mitt hjärta en gång fick bristningar av dig.
Är detta verkligen hur våran evighet av eldiga nätter och tårfyllda mornar skall kommas ihåg?
Varför gråter DU, och varför säger du ingenting?
Du ströp mig under så lång tid, och jag talade i slutet.
Min frigörelse. När kommer din..?
The blockings of a writer
Skrivkramp.
Jag kommer tillbaka- snart, hoppas jag.
Styrka
Det finns ord, som ger mig tårar,
och det finns en bräcklighet i människor, som härdar mig.
Sårade handleder, ärrade ögonlock- som har sett och upplevt allt- trots sin ringa ålder.
Jag bugar inför avskaffandet av känslor, och gråter mig till sömns.
Say what?!
Flyttar den första November till Stenungstorg! Så jävla lycklig! <3 <3
Ochså... Alla mina dikter, vill att folk skall veta att jag inte är deprimerad, inte självmordsbenägen eller så.
Jag är duktig på att hitta en känsla, men det går aldrig att bibehålla. No worries- jag är en hel och lycklig man. :)
The loss of roots
The final perspective of life, seen from above.
We cherished her life, when it was no more.
We faced the curtain call of a wonderfull, strong and determined women,
with the attitude of fullfilment. Did we really belive what was being said?
Taking gratitude from friends, despite our lack of influence during the last moments.
I didn't believe what was being said. We never lived the way they preached.
We will never face death, with the same attitude of the Gods and legends.
It's not the way of mortals.
If Gods can cry, I know that ours did today.
Sentimental speeches of Love, and fullfillment.
We smiled, nodded and spat at the words of the strongest link, between death and life.
The priests couldnt see the blasphemy we tried to ignore... but I saw it.
With a atmosphere so thick you could barely move in it, we said a final goodbye.
No amount of roses in the world can cover the loss we sufferd.
And no one can speak the way, we needed to be spoken to.
We cant leave the sorrow behind that easy.
It's not the way of mortals.
To get to know you, when you've passed sides- was to much to bare.
Moving so gently, with tears and anxiety as comfort.
Dont tell me that it is okay to do what we do.
If this was her final testament, and her final will. Then the last we can do,
its to abide by the gentleness of you.
That is the way of mortals.
Violence and War/ Mentally Distorted
I spend all my time with mischievous thoughts
With more time in contemplaiting then acting
To be honest with myself, my thinkin's something like a lost cause
Tried to find a meening to all of this confusion
Crucified my sould with a Crucifix-
Its easy to seem like a smart guy when using rotten tricks
Im not a misunderstood genious, im disillusioned
Im determined to find my goal somewhere in the comming years
To tired of waking up wet, due to recycled and dirty tears
I might be thinking, but hell, im not spending my time breathing
Adjacent to the dead, never awake and never sleeping
So I will keep my words posted on the forum of the eyeless...
Isak B.