Victim Of A Spiral Dream by gonZodaYve, literature
Literature
Victim Of A Spiral Dream
Why it only seems a mere somewhere
I horded and gloated upon my uncharitable thoughts,
Now in cracked walls I find notes half written and signed by me.
Easy it was to see myself as giving when taking hides itself in affection
Where only sentimental collections can be brought to mind,
"Oh so me, but no never a thee."
Passion's debit was my credit and topsy turvy the spiral up
- Spiraled down.
Pieces and wholes and parts not mine cannot find
Comfort and company in the hands of a dream.
Victim, victim, winsome or not, my blood turns cold from hot.
Self indulged is self denied, to try the crying game would be a lie,
I know no real rem
Love sees me
Upon the tender shelf
Between the
Slender key often turned
Sweet and free
From self to someone else
Whose ego
Feeds in my vanity
For skinful
Turns upon the deep burn
To soon lose
What began riotous thrust
Between the
Slender key often turned
Sweet and free
Upon the tender shelf
Love leaves me
You can seek wisdom or practicality
To cure your
-Abnormality.
Go to the doctor, go to the mountain,
Become an oh so virtuoso,
Drink from indulgence,
Swim in the fountain.
Take a holiday from reality
To cure your
-Abnormality.
The Night Has A Thousand Eyes by gonZodaYve, literature
Literature
The Night Has A Thousand Eyes
A thousand eyes to look at you.
Five hundred pairs,
That know - you are there.
Who can approve, or simply stare.
What a beautiful gathering,
That can be the cruel jesting.
Of hate or fate,
Who can debate?
Friendly eyes or deadly glares?
I think I shall wait til morning,
To see who is really looking
-at me.
Sad but True - I don't love you!
Apathy or anguish,
Which shall it be?
A tight tune to defend
Hurt's piercing wound,
Or lies that cry -
"Forget about me!"
Sad was the day
I began to consider
Affection doesn't pay.
Stay away, stay away,
I contaminate all who
Would say,"I'm the
one for you, each
-and every day!"
This does again
Become a friend.
How often I've seen
Sincere sweet meetings
And doleful partings.
That in the absence
Between, such
Glad hands are
Much fond of play
In secret ways
That stray from
Abstinence.
My friend is doubt -
Which I nev'r
Do without.
Who Was She? Where Did She Go? by gonZodaYve, literature
Literature
Who Was She? Where Did She Go?
Who was she and where did she go?
That fantasy you chased, who always said no.
It really wasn't that long ago.
Lying under oak trees, she and me
-Listening to jets.
Screaming today to take you a continent away.
Sitting on crates and eat'n pie burned by forget.
Running silly with a Frisbee for bait.
Pinching pennies while enjoy'n just lov'n.
But time rushed by and came very late.
Time to move on or someone will wait.
Who was that woman who taught you to hate?
ZYX ... your gaping hole
filters out life.
No where can you deny
what is left
is nothing
less
than
mere delayed - extinction.
Eat my dreams,
and live the life eternal.
Where distinction
in life or death
endZ.
Where new XistYenZ begins.
Somewhere must have been
home before a not.
Antagonism
cannot be alone.
A'the ism is
a being without,
with nothing within.
Does meaning lie here'n?
Does truth lie somewhere
without a doubt?
Victim Of A Spiral Dream by gonZodaYve, literature
Literature
Victim Of A Spiral Dream
Why it only seems a mere somewhere
I horded and gloated upon my uncharitable thoughts,
Now in cracked walls I find notes half written and signed by me.
Easy it was to see myself as giving when taking hides itself in affection
Where only sentimental collections can be brought to mind,
"Oh so me, but no never a thee."
Passion's debit was my credit and topsy turvy the spiral up
- Spiraled down.
Pieces and wholes and parts not mine cannot find
Comfort and company in the hands of a dream.
Victim, victim, winsome or not, my blood turns cold from hot.
Self indulged is self denied, to try the crying game would be a lie,
I know no real rem
Love sees me
Upon the tender shelf
Between the
Slender key often turned
Sweet and free
From self to someone else
Whose ego
Feeds in my vanity
For skinful
Turns upon the deep burn
To soon lose
What began riotous thrust
Between the
Slender key often turned
Sweet and free
Upon the tender shelf
Love leaves me
You can seek wisdom or practicality
To cure your
-Abnormality.
Go to the doctor, go to the mountain,
Become an oh so virtuoso,
Drink from indulgence,
Swim in the fountain.
Take a holiday from reality
To cure your
-Abnormality.
The Night Has A Thousand Eyes by gonZodaYve, literature
Literature
The Night Has A Thousand Eyes
A thousand eyes to look at you.
Five hundred pairs,
That know - you are there.
Who can approve, or simply stare.
What a beautiful gathering,
That can be the cruel jesting.
Of hate or fate,
Who can debate?
Friendly eyes or deadly glares?
I think I shall wait til morning,
To see who is really looking
-at me.
Sad but True - I don't love you!
Apathy or anguish,
Which shall it be?
A tight tune to defend
Hurt's piercing wound,
Or lies that cry -
"Forget about me!"
Sad was the day
I began to consider
Affection doesn't pay.
Stay away, stay away,
I contaminate all who
Would say,"I'm the
one for you, each
-and every day!"
This does again
Become a friend.
How often I've seen
Sincere sweet meetings
And doleful partings.
That in the absence
Between, such
Glad hands are
Much fond of play
In secret ways
That stray from
Abstinence.
My friend is doubt -
Which I nev'r
Do without.
Who Was She? Where Did She Go? by gonZodaYve, literature
Literature
Who Was She? Where Did She Go?
Who was she and where did she go?
That fantasy you chased, who always said no.
It really wasn't that long ago.
Lying under oak trees, she and me
-Listening to jets.
Screaming today to take you a continent away.
Sitting on crates and eat'n pie burned by forget.
Running silly with a Frisbee for bait.
Pinching pennies while enjoy'n just lov'n.
But time rushed by and came very late.
Time to move on or someone will wait.
Who was that woman who taught you to hate?
Night Becomes Our Dearest ... by gonZodaYve, literature
Literature
Night Becomes Our Dearest ...
Night Becomes Our Dearest Friend
Dedicated to ~A2Kdavis (~K) and 'The Laxative Mind Effect'
There is a place where dreaming ends,
And night becomes our dearest friend,
And when desire turns into self,
And where a wish will never help,
And all the while you're free to call,
To questions that intrigue us all.
Let's leave this place that life calls black,
Our hearts like stones that grow so cold,
The hurts that wound to show our lack,
And talk to answers while we're told,
Just look to life and not your back,
A bright white place for those so bold.
Yes, there's a place where dreaming ends,
And night becomes our dearest friend
Slowly, she turns as she walks across
the floor with only the smooth, light rock ballads
to cover her skin.
Stopping for the moment her practiced pace
that leads from room to room and back again;
she lingers upon her last thought
as one in a stupor might pause, abruptly stare,
and continue with a conversation once the tongue
has joined again with the mind.
Reminisce all that was, and any small bit of nothing
which was not, is the afternoon's entertainment.
Ever so gently, slightly tipping her finger and gliding,
touching the doll on the dresser who
keeps watch over her sometimes and sometimes not
reveries of that whic
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