Shackled
A bruise covered with a sweet kiss doesn’t relinquish the agony that unfolds consequently from wrath. And it’s sad that underneath this math, the numbers still don’t equate up to a righteous path.
I didn’t know I could bleed. And it seems like the only chances I took to analyze my own life was in times of need.
I guess chasing a dream can be seen as running from reality. But, I’ve never had that type of mentality. My chaos not only exists outside and around me, but the fatality of chaos also coexists within me.
So how can I escape? With shackled hands, a chained mind, and a tackled body, thoughts of freedom from this anguish are rowdy in rewind as my life seems to be in fast-forward throughout time.
I’ve chained and shackled my mind to a delusional ghost that acts like a jackal that coasts and haunts me, inconspicuously. I’ve allowed it to stow away with the key as it drags me on the heels of its two swollen feet. And just like an apparition of its kind, I can only drift behind like some animated dead with a voice of a thousand that tread with no tongues to speak.
A prisoner…trapped within the fiberglass walls of my own romantic illusions. And I can only see my own antics with inevitable conclusions from the reflections of a spirit without a soul whose essence has multiple contusions.
Bruised…beaten down and misused, the inner enemy within me has grasped the sin in me and manipulated any transgressions in the vicinity of righteousness and used it as a weapon of torment. So who’s the victim? I can only blame myself because I’ve allowed this nemesis from Genesis to not lay dormant.
Like a storm vent, it seems as if I’m permanently open like a warm trench to any trash and debris that may be carried with any bleeding currents of pain. My soul is shackled and chained. My spirit is tackled and drained. And I don’t believe any soothing rains could ever wash my hands and keep them from being crackled and stained.
It seems as if I’ve lost sight of the man I used to be. Like a child in a basement, I’ve become complacent and too familiar with the emotional darkness that surrounds my unanimated carcass.
Even when I glance towards my dissipated and heartless reflection upon glass I can’t surpass the tears that drown my masked soul. I don’t even know why I even bother. Maybe I should just come to terms and except the fact that I am the son of a father who has lost control by somehow manifesting a misery from a history untold.
So, now I just sit here in mystery saturating my own flesh because I’m overwhelmed by the tests of life. I was once told that real men don’t cry through the night and real men don’t try to get it right, but I’ve been able to win gunfights with a knife.
I can’t be told of the things other folks say that real men can’t or won’t do. I’ve cried. I’ve prayed. I’ve tried. I’ve stayed. I’ve died. I’ve slaved. Confided and gave. Been lied to and betrayed. But, now it seems as if I can only wave, “hi” and “bye”, like a parade, as I lie shackled with pride in a grave.
I didn’t know I could bleed. And it seems like the only chances I took to analyze my own life was in times of need.
I guess chasing a dream can be seen as running from reality. But, I’ve never had that type of mentality. My chaos not only exists outside and around me, but the fatality of chaos also coexists within me.
So how can I escape? With shackled hands, a chained mind, and a tackled body, thoughts of freedom from this anguish are rowdy in rewind as my life seems to be in fast-forward throughout time.
I’ve chained and shackled my mind to a delusional ghost that acts like a jackal that coasts and haunts me, inconspicuously. I’ve allowed it to stow away with the key as it drags me on the heels of its two swollen feet. And just like an apparition of its kind, I can only drift behind like some animated dead with a voice of a thousand that tread with no tongues to speak.
A prisoner…trapped within the fiberglass walls of my own romantic illusions. And I can only see my own antics with inevitable conclusions from the reflections of a spirit without a soul whose essence has multiple contusions.
Bruised…beaten down and misused, the inner enemy within me has grasped the sin in me and manipulated any transgressions in the vicinity of righteousness and used it as a weapon of torment. So who’s the victim? I can only blame myself because I’ve allowed this nemesis from Genesis to not lay dormant.
Like a storm vent, it seems as if I’m permanently open like a warm trench to any trash and debris that may be carried with any bleeding currents of pain. My soul is shackled and chained. My spirit is tackled and drained. And I don’t believe any soothing rains could ever wash my hands and keep them from being crackled and stained.
It seems as if I’ve lost sight of the man I used to be. Like a child in a basement, I’ve become complacent and too familiar with the emotional darkness that surrounds my unanimated carcass.
Even when I glance towards my dissipated and heartless reflection upon glass I can’t surpass the tears that drown my masked soul. I don’t even know why I even bother. Maybe I should just come to terms and except the fact that I am the son of a father who has lost control by somehow manifesting a misery from a history untold.
So, now I just sit here in mystery saturating my own flesh because I’m overwhelmed by the tests of life. I was once told that real men don’t cry through the night and real men don’t try to get it right, but I’ve been able to win gunfights with a knife.
I can’t be told of the things other folks say that real men can’t or won’t do. I’ve cried. I’ve prayed. I’ve tried. I’ve stayed. I’ve died. I’ve slaved. Confided and gave. Been lied to and betrayed. But, now it seems as if I can only wave, “hi” and “bye”, like a parade, as I lie shackled with pride in a grave.
To the unheard, regretful cries from push and shove, tell me how a life with the most perfect imperfections of love can come to this. Anguish. Conversing hollow poetry from a shattered soul’s language.
It seems like all of a sudden, with no glutton for tenderness, I was handed hate. So, now I just lay like a battered carcass in this scattered darkness, lost in transition in a manic state.
And only fear and panic wakes me to see that I’m still alive to see the reflections of a soul-mate that has sold their soul a long time ago. I no longer have a chained body with a free mind. Instead, my thoughts of freedom are in timeless shackles with a bruised body and no help to find.
I want to delete this. I can longer keep these secrets.
It seems like all of a sudden, with no glutton for tenderness, I was handed hate. So, now I just lay like a battered carcass in this scattered darkness, lost in transition in a manic state.
And only fear and panic wakes me to see that I’m still alive to see the reflections of a soul-mate that has sold their soul a long time ago. I no longer have a chained body with a free mind. Instead, my thoughts of freedom are in timeless shackles with a bruised body and no help to find.
I want to delete this. I can longer keep these secrets.
(Soundtrack provided and produced by Ol' Skool)