Picture by Rory Paxton on Pinterest
- The four theses of man
According to the devils plan
Were intended to make or break
The wishes of the promised land
My skin splits and splinters
Through dry and cold winters
But my mirror in my palm
Will never sing a perfect song
No, it will always be fragments
Notes, scattered off key
I sleep wrapped in chains
Dreaming of being free - You speak the words of my past
Without even batting an eye
Burning throat and drowning lungs
My smile will forever lie
I stare at the see through mirror
And crash it against the wall
Pick up every shattered piece
And stain the bloody shawl
Four is my number
For taps and pleads and wishes
But now I’m scared of the number four
Yet every other number misses - I close my eyes and tap my hands
Speaking and hoping for angel praise
They laugh and criticize my movements
And drag it on for countless days
I used to drink straight fear
In my lonely times
And now I make it clear
To practice out my crimes
My body has millions of hands
Tearing at it every second
now I finally realize
I’ve never made it past the reckoned - I don’t want to be
Yet I don’t want to cease
I can never exist
Without being forced to please
Can you understand what I can control
And then what I cannot?
Because every wince and noise you make
Was reflected and therefore taught
Reflections
Obsessions
Time for pain and lessons
And I will never cease
I will never please.
The four theses of man.
