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scarecrow-jones · 3 months ago

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tastes like watermelon

hey there little snowflake, how’s it feel to be so different? as kids we’re taught we’re each unique, equal but still separate is it all that it’s cracked up to be, is your glacier still sufficient? drifting in the silent air, what’s it like from your perspective? watch the ice, it ebbs and flows, but changes oh-so-slowly, but as circumstances inclement and heat rises below you, the cracks to be are born within and it’s hard not to feel lonely now you slide off back into the sea, and your birthplace will absorb you

we say the things we want to feel and hope life will flow according, we’re all shaped how we wish we weren’t but we’re real good at contorting or so we like to tell ourselves, but when the cameras aren’t recording and we’re alone with all our thoughts we’re not who we purported are we victims of our circumstance or creatures of discomfort? what’s the answer to the question nature versus nurture? is there solace to be found in truth we think to be assertive? or is this dreaming all we have, be it suicide or murder?

i know what this might mean to you, but if it’s all the same to me, what you see as naked truth might just be personal belief what is blue to the freshly sighted? is it fair if he feels frightened? if there’s no war, will you incite it? will you hear or choose to fight it? your experience whispers certainty, but it tastes like watermelon to me

what is it that sets us apart, distinct from one another? we all have our own arguments, we all fear one rebuttal but why are you who you believe, why was i not born my brother? and why are some so well-adjusted, why are some always in trouble? we scramble for the answers from the mess that we were left with, draw water from the stones we find and desperately ingest it, when faced with hunger, horror true, contrive some sort of lesson, but has anybody else thought yet how fucked up that this test is? what is there to learn from life and how hard must we still study? we search the skies, we scale the peaks, until our fingers bloody if we’re the stones from which we squeeze the answers when we’re thirsty, how do we know when we should ease, what if we squeeze to bursting? all we have to judge each other are our own struggled stories, frantic pages scribbled on while our forest homes were burning from jungles green into concrete, the sanctified and holy, the fire burns inside us now but we’re still not close to knowing

i know how this might feel to you, but if it’s all the same to me, what you think is blanket truth might be obscuring what you see if he feels pink but is delighted, if she’s not you when you had tried it, will you accept or choose to fight it? the war you waged is still inside you you say, “a labored fruit is not as sweet”, but it still tastes like watermelon to me

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scarecrow-jones · 7 months ago

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see you at my seance!

dearly beloved we are gathered today to say our goodbyes to fucks gone away

fuck!

(verse 1)

hey there my man its been quite a while, so tell me my dude, just how have you been? i'm sorry i vanished into thin air like that man but i swear to god it'll happen again

you see i've been dead inside quite a while, my whole life i think, but that's fine i suppose so anyway here's something that might make you smile, i'm holding a seance and channeling my ghost (and you're invited!)

(verse 2)

my doctor once told me im far too committed to patterns of thought that paint pictures of graves but i thought that maybe that's something to leverage so i looked it up and i learned something strange

the dead are not gone they're just poorly connected but cut through the static and look past the screams and the veil draped between us isn't thick as expected just know what you're doing or you'll dial palpatine (looking at you, jj!)

(chorus 1)

so im holding a seance for dreams long forgotten, texting the ghost of only sons begotten, number not found? well i guess that's all nonsense, now have a stirring rendition by sarah maclachlan of all of the reasons my soul has departed, gone, left the building, my body black-hearted, watching the rot overcome what i started, if this rhyme's left unfinished would anyone care?

(verse 3)

see i've been in-and-out the zone of the ended, fucked out my mind with chronic depression, but all that's behind me after this latest session i got home from work and i got the impression i should-

well it's all metaphorical, there's no need to fear, despite all my wailing i'll still be here next year, so please do not worry if i should disappear, i just got prescribed a hobby and i chose spiritualism

(ghosts just seemed neat at the time, i don't fucking know!)

(chorus 2)

so dont take it literal, my heart will go on - fuck wait a minute that was celine dion well whatever the case i feel like a dead dog, can sarah still eulogize me in a 3 minute spot? because there's too many reasons that my soul's departed, gone, left the building, no grieving imparted, did you even notice that I had un-started? why sing a song that won't be well-regarded?

(chorus 3)

now im holding a seance for dreams long forgotten, texting the ghosts of lonely sons begotten, they're nicer than lifers when you're at rock bottom, sleep in the arms of an angel by sarah maclachlan it's no great surprise my soul is departed, we all saw it coming, just not when it started, from birth until death i tried my damn hardest, but the twist of the story is i've been dead all along

(outro)

i just think that if ghosts are real, they might need a friend they were people too once, so we should speak to them the same i'm half-there already so i don't much fear the end, i just think that i'd vibe with with the phantom's pain you know? if it's all the same to you.

#scarecrow jones #see you at my seance!#poetry #lyrics

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