myOtaku.com
• Join Today!

My Pages
• Home
• Portfolio
• Guestbook

Contact Me

AIM
• dilapoid
E-mail
• Click Here
OtakuBoards
• Mitch
Website
• Click Here

Vitals

Birthday
• 1986-10-12
Gender
• Male
Member Since
• 2003-08-14
Occupation
• Writer
Real Name
• Mitchell Grant Smith


Jump to User:

myOtaku.com: Mitch


Tuesday, September 9, 2003

Dyers Eve
The current mood of dilapoid at www.imood.com
halloweve
skeletons are white
in the endless abyss of the night
and they say it well they say it right
the skeletons are dead grey no matter the day
no matter what they say

the neon deathbirds flash my eyes
as i hold the steering wheel in my hands
and it is my course and i steer this land
this country that is called to us free and grand

democratic is a greeting skull
on the halloweens of every day that passes by
often wondering is the saddest face of them all
even seeing their gravestones gives me the crawls

the skeletons are white
in the endless abyss of the night
and what they say is what is right
evenly they squirm in the maggots' sight

a small fly in the corner of my rearview mirror
a smear and a smile that says to fear
seeking no truth is seeking no wrong
eating away at myself is what takes its time
the maggot weaves his grime

where there is truth there are skulls
underneath the poor soul of the earth
thralls crawl and make their dirt
where there is truth there are skulls
and absolution is what keeps us calm
absolute is what we want to have

the skeletons are white
they have gone; they have bled life

like spiders with their many legs
the spinning womb creeps to our heads
as soon as we exhale we inhale
another closer to dead
another glance to backwards
so close but instead

this neon deathbird flashes to my pupils
it dilates; and irate is my head
the largest is smallest in the fields
the skeletons have died to kill

how beautiful the way it goes
how beautiful and absolute these graves
only flies and only canes
crutches for the wickeds; the ones without names

democratic is a greeting skull
the skeletons so white so pale
and it eats at me; this halloweve
the calling of release and freedoms' ribs
how gaunt it is to live at times
how broken it is to crack my bones
squeeze every last crack to crushed groans

the calling of release and freedoms' ribs
the beating heart that is held and singed
so gentle but so wicked cruel
beasts undermine the petty fools
and too bad they are so untame
for ponies are beautiful when they cave
falling to crushed organs and chains
only crutches for the wickeds; the ones without names

the neon deathbirds flash my eyes
as i hold the steering wheel in my hands
and it is my course and i steer this land
this country that is called to us free and grand

yet the only release is through freedoms' ribs
the chains that close us so brokenly in
and to squeeze is to cough and choke
joined to skeletons where they roam
but to be so young and a pony in the fields
too early to say yet what to feel
Comments (0)

« Home