|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
The Times in the Trenches.Feeling and reeling from the sickness inside,
you run for cover for the bullets somewhere come.
When you find it finally after being stuck in the muck.
We enjoy a tiny sanctuary of peace and silence,
just to go running out again to force compliance.
Then give a kiss on the cheek
right on the bruise we left last week.
You know you have ran into a wall again
just to fall into the shadow of depression.
Lets climb over that wall and just walk on the edge
and show the world what we got.
The Suicide Silence.Feeling the creep as the life goes slow and expands away,
You feel the release as the blade pierces the skin.
Is it today or later that you will finally fall,
You think you will be free but only in disease.
They will and wonder why it was that night
yes that dark deep silence that you thought it right.
As they grab the body they see you with no one there,
a empty shell that was once your happy face.
You few sitting there who have done it or are thinking to take it today
think of the ones who will clean you up.
Their despair and pain from your so called release.
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
Keep in Touch!