my legs are numb. i really can't feel them.

the mountains have been dusted with the ashes of my critics.
i can't believe that while i relapsed they made me out to be a cynic.
they paralyzed me with their intrusive stares until all of me went numb.
how'd i let those critics steal my brain and saw away my tongue.
their stares pierced my lungs and exacted precious amounts of air.
at that given moment in time i was the only child breathing there.
i closed my eyes and slowly drifted on a journey back through time.
the mountains sat there freshly dusted in an ash that smelled of mine.
the streets were lined with glitter and i saw all my critics rejoice.
i flooded the air with nerve gas and placidity waiting for one last voice.



this day's become prolonged and excessive.
simply living's become quite a feat.
if i get dragged up those shoddy steps, who's going to stop them?
stand up and stare me in the eye.
these eyes have always been cool, calm, crushed spheres of cobalt dust. this day drags on like the how long, how long blues.
stop me from making the same mistakes that they've made so many times before.
if i am drugged out of my mind and they drag me by my spine,
will you split that red sea crowd?
please be my moses and through divinity get up on stage and rescue me.
i've been awake for far too many hours and everything's coming in blurry now. i have no idea where my blood has gone.
i think it's in someone else's veins.
if you should come across them let me know so i can split their tracks and reclaim my name.
this macrocosm sickens me, but it seems much better now that i can't see.
there used to be tranquility in these two baby blues.
i think the cloudy film on my dying eyes is going to stifle these hues.