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The Junkyard Angel / Blog

ashes in december

cities made of shine made to burn down made to run like liquid confusion standing on annihilation charges won over corruption university of collaberating dividend not worth recreating absolution soon dividing an analogy for the end of time in the pitch of dark I'll lose myself only to find that it's me who keeps on falling not just the night that can't console these fruitless efforts of a nostalgic feeling cant really feel besides what won't exist in the eyes of nothing there's nothing else derive yourself from the hate you have solitude is just a word we tell ourselves disclosure won't get you far emptiness is comforting just like pain when you're feeling numb

fallen angel

Anticipation dewy spring morning of all hallows eve caught up in a blue lit feeling everything became nothing eyes do not stray untimely nature always true to this flawless picture and everything that it lacks combines itself to adjust the frame time to capture what was never really there. I wish to stay awake stay in place, stay away looking back I see the horizon sleepy willows distant footsteps dull patterns of little concept no mention in the paper of madness here today. Depart with haste I'm unable to face the answer is not a way to glory it's just a way to erase what's hurting can't fix what was never broken staring into a hallucination run through your abrasions cars drive on listlessly into the night. Rail yards, tire tracks endless erray of empty train stations and familiar faces wearing strange masks alone in this desert I heard the echoes of a gun go off.. the moon disappeared sun, set upon this wasteland clean up the mess that you left behind.

numb

Numb, this fragile structure no longer will contain darkness renders forever falling I've started to hate the way I feel. Disintegrate what's immaculate divided by a barrier trapped someplace I've never been. Haunted by the absence of any fear I'm left with a veil of rust only to realize I've erased the structure and the numb feeling is just a dull sensation. The moon lights up like a statue carved from stars and torn fabric forming glowing shadows scratching at the sky over a city made of dust. I hear a voice hiding in the auditorium the silent interval unfolds beauty that is flawless lost in a winter asylum divinity dissolves this suspended parade of frost.