If heaven calls...
All this talk of getting old
It's getting me down, my love
Like a cat in a bag, waiting to drown
This time I'm comin' down
And I hope you're thinking of me
As you lay down on your side
Now the drugs don't work
They just make you worse
But I know I'll see your face again
Now the drugs don't work
They just make you worse
But I know I'll see your face again
But I know I'm on a losing streak
'Cause I passed down by your street
And if you wanna show, then just let me know
And I'll sing in your ear again
Now the drugs don't work
They just make you worse
But I know I'll see your face again
'Cause baby, oooooooh
If heaven calls, I'm coming too
Just like you said
If you leave my life, I'm better off dead
All this talk of getting old
It's getting me down my love
Like a cat in a bag, waiting to drown
This time I'm comin' down
Now the drugs don't work
They just make you worse
But I know I'll see your face again
Yeah, I know I'll see your face again
Yeah, I know I'll see your face again
Might, and Memory
I didn't hear you leave ..
I wonder how am I still here
And I don't want to move a thing
Cause it might change my memory
Oh I am what I am, I do what I want
But I can't hide, I won't go
I won't sleep, I can't breathe
Until you're resting here with me
I won't leave, I can't hide
I cannot be, until you're resting here with me
I don't want to call my friends
They might wake me from this dream
And I can't leave this bed
And risk forgetting all that's been
Oh I am what I am, I'll do what I want
But I can't hide, and I won't go, I won't sleep
I can't breathe, until you're resting here with me
And I won't leave, I can't hide
I cannot be until you're resting here
And I won't go, and I won't sleep
And I can't breathe, until you're resting here with me
Oil of Angels
First, he's inched her latch down
Anxious, her hand begs, and now my distraction
Distraction
I will learn to focus on, oh you..
Cause you won't recognize it, stabilize it
Things take, take me, to exception
Look for respect, respect, down, down there
You're not a nice track footfall, round
Will we still hold, rain, things we couldn't do
Strive, for me to leave, rights of her, rights
Treasure her, treasure her freshness first
He's inched her latch down, anxious
Oh, her hand begs, and my distraction
Distraction
I will learn to, I will learn
To focus on you, to focus on you
Cause you won't recognize it
Recognize, stabilize it, stabilize it
He even finds a way, supreme, man improves
Like what might see, her life, for everyone
Will it still hold rain, things we couldn't do
Strive, for me to give, rights of her
Rights, treasure her, treasure, her freshness
I will learn to focus on you, you
The Art Of Deprivation
I can't turn it off like I used to be able to do. Or should I say that I wont? (because can't lives on wont street) It sure feels like can't though. It was my conscious safety net for years. I felt so much that I couldn't handle it so I turned everything off. I used the song "Third-Day-To-Forever" when I first heard it. I remember the numbing effect it had on me, how it totally enveloped me, that protection from her, from me, from anything... It was the only thing I knew. I sure didn't know how to handle love. I know I can't deal with things this way any longer. I know that when it turns back on, no matter how long it was off, those demonic feelings wait for you. There is no escape from those feelings, only temporary illusions of absence. They lurk in dreams, showing inescapable situations until you wake up hoping they were only dreams and then realize that reality is more frightening and inescapable. Sooner or later, we must deal with what we have been dealt, be it pain, regret, abandon, fire, or just more emotion than we are used to dealing with...
This is why I often sit dreaming of slicing my wrists in vertical fashion, of flying swan style off the Henry Hudson Hotel, of pressing a 45 against my temple, of placing my big toe on the trigger of a double barrel shotgun - because I feel these things. If I shut them off, I will only have to deal with them later. If I deal with them now, maybe they'll go away sooner, but not only that - I can not live a lie anymore... To live asleep holds nothing for me. You may say 'you'd be happy, comfortable, safe' but I do not believe in that life. I do not want a comfortable life. I do not want some illusion of safety. I don't believe in its existence, not on that realm. And the word 'happy' is a signature on the credit card receipt of the sale of your human soul...
Deprivation truly is beautiful. To deprive yourself or to be deprived of that which you need, want, and desire, by your beloved, by your conditions, or by yourself, no matter who or what that is, is beauty beyond compare... In deprivation, you feel each and every slice from the blades of the ticking clock, as if it truly existed. Every waking moment is testament of that agony. Every distraction is seen for what it is in light of that deprivation, a distraction only, a moment of shelter, but just by realizing it, or thinking of it, you manhandle the blades once more. There is no escape, no true shelter, no quarter given. In sleep, dreams come to you, of comfort, of a lovers face, of her lips, her touch, her love, but you wake, yet again deprived, and it hurts that much more, because for those moments, you thought that comfort might have been real..
Water, hot, while showering, sitting, at the bottom of a tub, with each drop hitting you, one after the next, incessantly, yet frozen in the moments between time and what comes next, the steam rising, enveloping you in the fogs of comfort, soothe the aching heart, but for moments only. In each moment between, time attacks you, and the water betrays you, by giving you the space to think, to daydream, to indulge in fantasies, of comfort, love, a woman's touch... Yet again, deprived. It is only you, dreaming, alone. But this is the essence of appreciation, the opposite of granted, of taking a moment for granted. In every self-indulgent masochistic moment that I sit here and fantasize of death, or love, or comfort of any kind, I can appreciate this moment, alive, truly understanding what this 'time' is handing me, the gifts possessed. I am aware - asleep or awake - of my choices, of my emotions and feelings, of my pain, and my soul's deprivation. This is art.
This is why I often sit dreaming of slicing my wrists in vertical fashion, of flying swan style off the Henry Hudson Hotel, of pressing a 45 against my temple, of placing my big toe on the trigger of a double barrel shotgun - because I feel these things. If I shut them off, I will only have to deal with them later. If I deal with them now, maybe they'll go away sooner, but not only that - I can not live a lie anymore... To live asleep holds nothing for me. You may say 'you'd be happy, comfortable, safe' but I do not believe in that life. I do not want a comfortable life. I do not want some illusion of safety. I don't believe in its existence, not on that realm. And the word 'happy' is a signature on the credit card receipt of the sale of your human soul...
Deprivation truly is beautiful. To deprive yourself or to be deprived of that which you need, want, and desire, by your beloved, by your conditions, or by yourself, no matter who or what that is, is beauty beyond compare... In deprivation, you feel each and every slice from the blades of the ticking clock, as if it truly existed. Every waking moment is testament of that agony. Every distraction is seen for what it is in light of that deprivation, a distraction only, a moment of shelter, but just by realizing it, or thinking of it, you manhandle the blades once more. There is no escape, no true shelter, no quarter given. In sleep, dreams come to you, of comfort, of a lovers face, of her lips, her touch, her love, but you wake, yet again deprived, and it hurts that much more, because for those moments, you thought that comfort might have been real..
Water, hot, while showering, sitting, at the bottom of a tub, with each drop hitting you, one after the next, incessantly, yet frozen in the moments between time and what comes next, the steam rising, enveloping you in the fogs of comfort, soothe the aching heart, but for moments only. In each moment between, time attacks you, and the water betrays you, by giving you the space to think, to daydream, to indulge in fantasies, of comfort, love, a woman's touch... Yet again, deprived. It is only you, dreaming, alone. But this is the essence of appreciation, the opposite of granted, of taking a moment for granted. In every self-indulgent masochistic moment that I sit here and fantasize of death, or love, or comfort of any kind, I can appreciate this moment, alive, truly understanding what this 'time' is handing me, the gifts possessed. I am aware - asleep or awake - of my choices, of my emotions and feelings, of my pain, and my soul's deprivation. This is art.
The Blades Of Abandon
Questions swallow me
Taunting me with hope and deprivation
As I continue to press harder
I wonder, could I feel more alive than this?
Your words I choose
Like beauty in a twelve piece cutlery set
Caressing and admiring
In a world of nothing else
I run them down my arms
Softly over my skin
And feel the gifts they possess
Still, I am unable to choose
I focus on my changing reflection
Pondering the fear and questions
Again I dreamt of a world where blood drips forever
I close my eyes
Just a little longer this time
And let my fingers find that which my eyes could not
I hear the word and let go of my hold
This abandon becomes a shadow in my place
ⓒ 2000 Shawn Michael Quinn
ⓒ 2000 Shawn Michael Quinn
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