Life as an Extreme Sport

there is always space between the lines

I doom and gloom well. I’m aware of that; my goth disposition, I suppose. But I also try to do things that scare me, like taking deep breaths and placing faith and trust in external sources, things, people. Which is around where I’m at right now – a lot of faith and trust in someone else’s hands, with fevered whisperings of prayers, wishes, whatever, that it will be okay. That the right choice can be scary, but that fear is often just overcoming the conditioned self-preservation that other people ground into us in the first place.

Fear is illogical, fear is the mindkiller… fear is the thing we should use against the person who’s caused it, not people after, who were never involved. Don’t punish the innocent for other’s mistakes.

Good theory, anyhow.

I hate waiting. I hate pins and needles. There is good anticipation; this is not it.

Time After Time

This. Exactly. Sums it all up. No point in trying to craft words to say what’s already been said so perfectly.

Lying in my bed I hear the clock tick,
and think of you
caught up in circles confusion–
is nothing new
Flashback–warm nights–
almost left behind
suitcases of memories,
time after–

sometimes you picture me–
I’m walking too far ahead
you’re calling to me, I can’t hear
what you’ve said–
Then you say–go slow–
I fall behind–
the second hand unwinds

chorus:
if you’re lost you can look–and you will find me
time after time
if you fall I will catch you–I’ll be waiting
time after time

after my picture fades and darkness has
turned to gray
watching through windows–you’re wondering
if I’m OK
secrets stolen from deep inside
the drum beats out of time–

chorus:
if you’re lost…

you said go slow–
I fall behind
the second hand unwinds–

chorus:
if you’re lost…
…time after time
time after time
time after time
time after time