Fanshawe speaks through poetry
Decrepit Infallibility
Staring at shadows with forms of disbelief like rusty nails stinging my skin
running over crushed glass with the intentions of repairing broken butterflies in my stomach basking in syringe stuck questions
anxious razors cut up the last of the letters I wrote to you
under this morose sun you tell me things will get better
I kick footsteps with dislocated toes, thinking... lost lovers trudge on through indifferent snow falls
haven't we foreshadowed empathy amongst the universe yet
inoperable winds cast blankets of shrapnel over our delicate footsteps
monsters around the corner, monsters around the corner
maneuvering past these shards of porcelain
with rose peddle cheeks you incoherently touch the brim of the sun
were becoming akin to cocoon strategies
dissecting ourselves in mother nature's obtrusive womb, listen to the static
scornfully feeling the shadows off of the tombs of past lives
doom into serenity and serenity into doom
third degree toxic fumes we indulge
that melancholic bird is sadly bleeding from internal wounds
nocturnal moons stare upon us with ghostly eyes
dirt spirits lay another dying dog to sleep
as a funeral procession for the harrowing the afterlife of day
before suicidal angels sing sorrowful lyrics into the life of night
we're staring at the why's through broken family picture frames
our internal clocks rest above broken family picture frames
the clock strikes nowhere as we are left in disarray leaving us with bites across our ankles
seeing lasers pointed at our cloud nine while tip toeing through time portals
we develop out of microchip stem cells, a tight rope strategy for humanity full moons inherently manipulated the manifestations of our cells
whispered conundrums strum minute hums into wounded ear drums
while we begin cringing at the aftermath to come we wonder while sleeping
stepping over remnants of euphoria only to slip in and out of comas
undetermined forecasts we are in
thus a decrepit soothsayer begins, to speak.
Staring at shadows with forms of disbelief like rusty nails stinging my skin
running over crushed glass with the intentions of repairing broken butterflies in my stomach basking in syringe stuck questions
anxious razors cut up the last of the letters I wrote to you
under this morose sun you tell me things will get better
I kick footsteps with dislocated toes, thinking... lost lovers trudge on through indifferent snow falls
haven't we foreshadowed empathy amongst the universe yet
inoperable winds cast blankets of shrapnel over our delicate footsteps
monsters around the corner, monsters around the corner
maneuvering past these shards of porcelain
with rose peddle cheeks you incoherently touch the brim of the sun
were becoming akin to cocoon strategies
dissecting ourselves in mother nature's obtrusive womb, listen to the static
scornfully feeling the shadows off of the tombs of past lives
doom into serenity and serenity into doom
third degree toxic fumes we indulge
that melancholic bird is sadly bleeding from internal wounds
nocturnal moons stare upon us with ghostly eyes
dirt spirits lay another dying dog to sleep
as a funeral procession for the harrowing the afterlife of day
before suicidal angels sing sorrowful lyrics into the life of night
we're staring at the why's through broken family picture frames
our internal clocks rest above broken family picture frames
the clock strikes nowhere as we are left in disarray leaving us with bites across our ankles
seeing lasers pointed at our cloud nine while tip toeing through time portals
we develop out of microchip stem cells, a tight rope strategy for humanity full moons inherently manipulated the manifestations of our cells
whispered conundrums strum minute hums into wounded ear drums
while we begin cringing at the aftermath to come we wonder while sleeping
stepping over remnants of euphoria only to slip in and out of comas
undetermined forecasts we are in
thus a decrepit soothsayer begins, to speak.