Trauma

Everything after this will be a lie.
Eyes falling on damaged paper and faulty pencil stroke
These words caress the page but are unwillingly misinterpreted by my heart
They are a subject of its judgment, just as they are in the reflection of your mind
Falling through this nervous hand are only tiny grains of thought
They are dwarfed by the silo to such an extent that their home looks upon them with a condescending eye and skeptical smile
Even though these few meaningless thoughts steal space from the silo, it has inevitably become them
The silo gently holds them inside itself with leaden arms, believing that they might one day surpass it
Though every night it mourns its own denial, followed by self-realization
The silo has trapped these thoughts in a cage of bewilderment
The grains are only able to associate with their contemporaries and are kept inside their creator from fear and contempt
The steel muzzle ensnares them with the countenance of a confused destroyer; it doesn’t know if it should permit birth or grant death to its inhabitants
The penitentiary endlessly watches its inmates die yet regards those leaving as newly found hope
Still, the prison knows those that have been in it will never break its bars, even when they are freed
When alone at night the shell will talk to itself and its interior will subconsciously recognize every word said with profound respect and faith
The shell has always been awake, and will eternally retain consciousness, but it will also carry an infinite phobia of sleep
Fate might not be the same for its residents, but they will suffocate after their placenta has been taken from them
As a nurturing mother, the exterior is self-loathing, for it understands the boundaries it defines and the lies that will always be trapped inside its heart
All of these grains that have speckled into the silo were forfeit even before they came to pass
Before my mind ever created them it was also subject to the judgment of the silo
My thoughts are completely dependent upon the shell, and have been raised as its child for the span of their existence
However, as grains, they wish to feed as many as possible, and if the silo can be used a medium, they will teach it to externalize itself, and witness the savage reality of its surroundings with their own eyes
The silo is reflected inside of ourselves.





Since this was so long and I wrote it in the span of a half-hour, I didn't really focus on the vocabulary, but tried to use more figurative and metaphorical context. Some of its jumbled because I wrote it so quickly but the message is direct. I started with "everything after this will be a lie" because it's also the first real songbook I've started writing in, so it had more to do with than the thoughts I was having (even though it pertained to them more than anything).

If you read all this, I will sleep in your pants.

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A mi no me importa nada
Para mi la vida es un sueño

sleepy jack

I lovelovelovelove your writing.

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Trauma

I need somewhere to sleep, can I use your pants?

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A mi no me importa nada
Para mi la vida es un sueño

sleepy jack

Sure thing, ignore the handcuffs, whip cream and cowbells in there though.

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