Rhythmic pounding.
Feedback. A jet engine kicking into gear. The sound of a man giving up.
Rhythmic pounding.
The artist, creating a self portrait. Sketching. Drawing. Painting. Sculpting. Destroying.
Rhythmic pounding.
This is about something. This means something. Birds chirping. Who knows what that is.
Rhythmic pounding.
Echos that aren’t echos, reverb that isn’t. Baritone. For so long. For so long.
Rhythmic pounding.
Soaring. Soaring. Soaring. Soaring. Emotion.
Rhythmic pounding.
The realism comes to an end and the world begins.
Rhythmic pounding.
A face, crying out with its mouth closed and there’s no noise. And then there’s nothing at all.
“Where are your friends tonight?”
I switched schools. I overreacted. I was selfish. He moved. She lied. We split up. I didn’t have enough time.
…that’s how it starts.
We saw each other less. We stopped speaking. I hurt him. I didn’t call him. I quit. We argued more. There just wasn’t enough time.
…and so it starts.
We stopped hanging out. We ignored each other completely. I made him hate me. I ignored his calls. I gave up. We fell to pieces. There was never be enough time.
…it falls apart.
I miss him. I fucked up. We’re better now. He’s still trying. I will never come back. I will always crawl back. I’ll find the time.
…to tell the truth.
“If I could see all my friends tonight—”
Oh, You Glorious Voyager!
You walk on
bringing ruin in your wake,
yet still you are loved.
Oh, You Wonderful Traveler!
Never stopping, always running.
From what, I wonder?
Do you even know?
Oh, You Strange Nomad!
Idolized forever,
your song is sung by millions,
yet still you wish for death.
Oh, You Mysterious Drifter!
The world you travel loves you, yes,
but do you love it?
I think not.
