Tossing and Tortured 'Till Dawn

I come back to you now, at the turn of the tide.

Monday, January 31, 2005

Recently, I've felt the pressures of my mind, filled as it is with imprisoned words from dozens unwritten stories. I had the realization, then, that they were planning their escape. Are they?

They're planning their escape.
I've kept them locked away for a very long time.
I don't know how much longer I can hold them.
The walls might not be enough tonight.

They're planning their escape
I don't think I can will them away much more
I've tried to deny their existence, but
They're still here when I close my eyes

They're planning their escape
When they get out, where will I hide?
There's nowhere they can't find me
They've seen my every step.

They're planning their escape
Could I beg them have mercy on me?
I've been an unkind jailor
And their numbers: too great to overcome.

They're planning their escape
It's all but inevitable now
The sun will go down, and they will get out
I swear, I'm no longer afraid.

I'm not dissatisfied with this; it's an escape I've long forseen, and perhaps in many ways encouraged. Wish me luck, then. My journal has about a hundred references to the Conner Oberst song "An Attempt To Tip the Scales" -- 'Did you expect it all to stop, with the wave of your hand? Like the sun's just going to drop, if it's night you demand ... So we trade liquor for blood, in an attempt to tip the scales, I think you've lost what you loved in that mass of details ... well, winter's gonna end I'm gonna clean these veins again, so close to dying that I finally can start living.'


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