Gamble Everything for Love - Ben Lee
Even my sanity, Ben. Even my sanity.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
ALMOST reason
On trying to admit how sad I am, I smile. It's pretending. That's how they get me. Catch me, trap me into their silly fucking games. Where I'm not the princess or the king. Where I am nothing but the people I have met. It isn't funny, it's a JOKE. How they change the walks and walls...
See this is a labyrinth of emotions and navigating through them is impossible for a child such as myself. and then I'm clearly in distress when you ask me to explain myself, but why?
I'm trying to see how sad I really am but I'm endlessly hoping I'm nothing at all. That I will not wake up tomorrow concious at all because I never really existed. That, of all things, would be the ultimate dream. To wake from your reverie state and realize
or actually I mean not to wake at all. Not because you're dying, or dead...no. Because you were never alive, and all these years, what they were proving was pointless
because you aren't actually
real.
Do you ever dream of never waking up?- or is that what they call the endless sleep.
Infinity.
No one wants death here, ah... but no one wants life.
See this is a labyrinth of emotions and navigating through them is impossible for a child such as myself. and then I'm clearly in distress when you ask me to explain myself, but why?
I'm trying to see how sad I really am but I'm endlessly hoping I'm nothing at all. That I will not wake up tomorrow concious at all because I never really existed. That, of all things, would be the ultimate dream. To wake from your reverie state and realize
or actually I mean not to wake at all. Not because you're dying, or dead...no. Because you were never alive, and all these years, what they were proving was pointless
because you aren't actually
real.
Do you ever dream of never waking up?- or is that what they call the endless sleep.
Infinity.
No one wants death here, ah... but no one wants life.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
FRESH
It is of course fresh inside. New snow lacking footprints. Lacking noise, inside...everything is white and clean and empty. With a rapid, fickle beat that's non-existent...oh, inside everything is marvellous and you'll never, ever know.
Monday, February 21, 2011
opening doors
Ivory lakes and florescent smiles--that's what I see. Millions of ants, moving in lines, marching to be free. No burning skin of wallpaper ghosts, no violets of blue who shall tear... But from my balcony sitting, I am trying to play the game fair.
So this is for the imaginative; the worrying warts who aren't free. This is for the damaged, the cupboard kids, and me. The ice cream walkways, the highways of net, the tightrope they're begging to cross... Welcome to just Outside here...welcome, outside the box.
So this is for the imaginative; the worrying warts who aren't free. This is for the damaged, the cupboard kids, and me. The ice cream walkways, the highways of net, the tightrope they're begging to cross... Welcome to just Outside here...welcome, outside the box.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Looking glass window
We go to open the labyrinth's door
where the hopeless and dreamers have tread.
It's the window we're watching,
the blooming outside, that we find ourselves
needing instead.
Knock on the wood and pray for the best
but what are you praying for?
Outside these walls there's a world of dreams--
if you'll only just open the door.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Waking hours
In monsters we trust
and I'll set them all free
rather than scaring
I'll let THEM fall asleep.
and I'll set them all free
rather than scaring
I'll let THEM fall asleep.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Friday, February 11, 2011
The fall
"Shut up," he says, and I do. He looks behind us, eyes following the stairs all the way to the very tip-top.
And I cannot stop the trembling of my hands, the concrete wavering feeling that we're not supposed to be here.
"Okay," he says. "Let's go."
We can go but for a moment we don't move. He's watching my reaction to nothing, because I'm scared when all we're doing isn't. Isn't anything at all apart from mundane.
"Come on." He takes my wrist in his hand so I'll move, because I'm not moving at all. And up the stairs we go to the car park, to the edge of the building, to the fall---"back up," he says. "Back up" and I don't.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
LOCKET
I have lost your lockit
with your picture
with your middle parting
when you questioned
who you liked
if you could have liked me
I have lost your love
lost your touching
lost your love
like the loser
I am missing
it's my mind I cannot
trust.
I have lost the chain
on which it hung
around my heart
when your soul was not
a shadow
when our hands were not apart.
I have lost so many
long departed but I thought
that if I ever lose you
that'll be the last straw.
with your picture
with your middle parting
when you questioned
who you liked
if you could have liked me
I have lost your love
lost your touching
lost your love
like the loser
I am missing
it's my mind I cannot
trust.
I have lost the chain
on which it hung
around my heart
when your soul was not
a shadow
when our hands were not apart.
I have lost so many
long departed but I thought
that if I ever lose you
that'll be the last straw.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Alive from dead
Watch the birds in the sky
demons fly ing down the roads
we walk
behind us
who's behind us?
And what do we have to look forward to
backwards
death is
backwards
we're born
we died
and we spend our lives
trying to feel alive
from dead.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Friday, February 4, 2011
on thinking and thoughts
"About other" people is my escape.
Their world is so much more interesting
with socks in colour, bones and skin
it's lovely when I hear them sing
those songs in which I'm listening
it's lives I live between the bars.
Of pain, of cups in tea, we're
wringing out the dishes see
past glass that's grey, oh glasses
green it's marked in hearts
we love, we gleam.
What stories told me to get out
which books I read not in my head
where bugs could talk and ghosts could cry
with stories pouring out their eyes-
I learned to think for other's thoughts
and people grew like coloured spots
I am not me not just this soul
these thoughts aren't mine but
Theirs, how drôle est ca.
Their world is so much more interesting
with socks in colour, bones and skin
it's lovely when I hear them sing
those songs in which I'm listening
it's lives I live between the bars.
Of pain, of cups in tea, we're
wringing out the dishes see
past glass that's grey, oh glasses
green it's marked in hearts
we love, we gleam.
What stories told me to get out
which books I read not in my head
where bugs could talk and ghosts could cry
with stories pouring out their eyes-
I learned to think for other's thoughts
and people grew like coloured spots
I am not me not just this soul
these thoughts aren't mine but
Theirs, how drôle est ca.
wrong
There's so much I need to tell the world
but no one ever listens. And now I couldn't say it if I tried
who's fault is this? -not mine.
How do I put it sweetly? that I'm going well insane...
if I told you what you'd lock me out
so I'll won't say anything.
but no one ever listens. And now I couldn't say it if I tried
who's fault is this? -not mine.
How do I put it sweetly? that I'm going well insane...
if I told you what you'd lock me out
so I'll won't say anything.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Who Is It
He whispers, "come on, doll, one more breath." This lonely friend of mine...he isn't real. I'm crying on someone else's floor, with someone else's clothes scattered in the corners. I'm leaning against someone else's wall, and he whispers, "Just stand up and get the hell outta here."
I'm listening to someone else's voice from my mouth when I'm screaming that this isn't working anymore. I'm tangling someone else's fingers between blades, playing with someone else's blood.
This isn't my life on the line.
Quiet, quietly he whispers, "Now walk out of here like the king you are." Only I'm no king, and I give in, because that's who this is and what she does. She tells him, "Fuck off S." and drags her flattened worth along the stairs, down to the very basement of the building. Fading, fading, he whispers, "Don't."
That's where the furnace is. Who's life is on the line again?
I'm listening to someone else's voice from my mouth when I'm screaming that this isn't working anymore. I'm tangling someone else's fingers between blades, playing with someone else's blood.
This isn't my life on the line.
Quiet, quietly he whispers, "Now walk out of here like the king you are." Only I'm no king, and I give in, because that's who this is and what she does. She tells him, "Fuck off S." and drags her flattened worth along the stairs, down to the very basement of the building. Fading, fading, he whispers, "Don't."
That's where the furnace is. Who's life is on the line again?
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Anxiety
You feel like the world is having too many fits
Screaming and throwing things that kill people.
You feel like too many fits will break everything
the power going out
the snow cutting us off
the ice bergs melting.
It's that crushing noise of a frozen tidal wave
moments before it consumes you
and you're thinking maybe you should have recycled that plastic bottle of water you drank this morning.
like it was one small thing you could have done,
maybe you wouldn't be dying now.
Freeze their death frame,
look over to the next screen;
the roofs of houses like floating cereal in your breakfast. those last few survivors, soaking up milk before you eat them too. left for dead, some mornings you toss them in the food garbage;
SOME mornings you don't even care, you leave them.
Look alive, kids.
The time in between the apocalypse is what's waiting from now to then.
You can't help but notice these natural disasters are getting closer and closer together
maybe until it's one after another
maybe until there isn't a pause to collect yourself.
Maybe one day soon everything is going to end, but the ending where nothing gets cleaned up.
We won't be wiped out instantaneously.
But over the next few years
the struggle to survive might not be worth it.
Over the next few months we're going to
over the next few weeks we're about
over the next few days I'm still breathing
switching back and fourth the struggle to breathe is harder.
I think, "It's happening."
right before the wave crushes me.
Screaming and throwing things that kill people.
You feel like too many fits will break everything
the power going out
the snow cutting us off
the ice bergs melting.
It's that crushing noise of a frozen tidal wave
moments before it consumes you
and you're thinking maybe you should have recycled that plastic bottle of water you drank this morning.
like it was one small thing you could have done,
maybe you wouldn't be dying now.
Freeze their death frame,
look over to the next screen;
the roofs of houses like floating cereal in your breakfast. those last few survivors, soaking up milk before you eat them too. left for dead, some mornings you toss them in the food garbage;
SOME mornings you don't even care, you leave them.
Look alive, kids.
The time in between the apocalypse is what's waiting from now to then.
You can't help but notice these natural disasters are getting closer and closer together
maybe until it's one after another
maybe until there isn't a pause to collect yourself.
Maybe one day soon everything is going to end, but the ending where nothing gets cleaned up.
We won't be wiped out instantaneously.
But over the next few years
the struggle to survive might not be worth it.
Over the next few months we're going to
over the next few weeks we're about
over the next few days I'm still breathing
switching back and fourth the struggle to breathe is harder.
I think, "It's happening."
right before the wave crushes me.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
in kingdom
from being haunted
only my darling knows
who's cheating on ( I'm sorry
's will not cut it( because
we have to run.
My darling does not know knot
who I am chasing after (see
I'm running from this notion
(that just because we're married
does not make me
too much old
my darling he's a 5 year'd boy
and sweety we're just 3.
only my darling knows
who's cheating on ( I'm sorry
's will not cut it( because
we have to run.
My darling does not know knot
who I am chasing after (see
I'm running from this notion
(that just because we're married
does not make me
too much old
my darling he's a 5 year'd boy
and sweety we're just 3.
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