On Apology
2009-10-22

I hate them.
Because I have so many of my own.

What disease is this?
There should certainly be a name.

This disease is called me.

All over, I'm nowhere.
Do you have an answer for me?
Witchdoctor, I don't think you see.
There's devastation here!
There is here, impossibility.
What paper cure will you give me?

I chew it up, swallow it down.
All I see is the ground.
The cure has been my curse-
Your voice, a sound.
This will only get worse.

Do you see me now?
Have you seen me before?
Wipe away the reflection.
What is it I was looking for?
There is no truth, such imperfection.

I will not say it
because I am it.
No one needs know it.
No one can give it.

I'll fix you like a braid.
A short-term point, made.
Broken on your back,
all these parts turned black,
your soul to fade.

Will I be rid of you?
Of me, of you, of me.
Of everything I'd never seen before
What do I dream it for?
Tell me, what do I see?
Of me, of you, of me?
Answers, have you no more?
Not for a penny, a dime,
a soul?
Can't you, Witchdoctor?
Won't you make me whole?

 

  Old - Mini Bio - New