Beautiful Disease

Beautiful DiseaseIt’s a Road trip of sorts,How do you get there?Pick your poison.That’s rightWhere do you goTo be alone?Not to be seenBy any eyes;Other than your own?Isolate yourselfIn that room called, Safe;Lose yourselfIn the scene of the crowd;Throw yourself downFace first on the ground.Blind side eyes scatheThe imaginary ceilingFervently searching cracksFor the almighty trap door.Run like an inmateTo your fetish, The Escape;As if on a treasure huntThrough the neighborhood.Embrace the roundupOf Mother’s Little Helpers;Follow themWith rain water chasersTo your destination;A long way from home. “Thank you for the tragedy. I need it for my art.”― Kurt Cobain      Playful

Source: Beautiful Disease


Beautiful Disease

It’s a Road trip of sorts,
How do you get there?
Pick your poison.

That’s right
Where do you go
To be alone?
Not to be seen
By any eyes;
Other than your own?

Isolate yourself
In that room called, Safe;
Lose yourself
In the scene of the crowd;
Throw yourself down
Face first on the ground.
Blind side eyes scathe
The imaginary ceiling
Fervently searching cracks
For the almighty trap door.
Run like an inmate
To your fetish, The Escape;
As if on a treasure hunt
Through the neighborhood.
Embrace the roundup
Of Mother’s Little Helpers;
Follow them
With rain water chasers
To your destination;
A long way from home.


“Thank you for the tragedy. I need it for my art.”
― Kurt Cobain      Playful


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