24 Oct 98
Bleeding Roses

Our hope for an absolution
Leaves us discontented still
And we decide to play a role
As we begin to succeed in portraying the persons we think we should be.

We play into the hands
Of the technological tricks
We set out to become our words
And live for the lyrics
And finally we’re the movie star on the show we’ve come to hate.

Overly rehearsed words fall slowly
Through scenes of dé ja vu.
Are we the words and pictures of our own perfection
Or did we fail someones test of the expensive cliche?

Deep and meaningful becomes superficial
Infatuated with our own destiny
Created from desperation or a timeless insecurity.

My flawlessly artificial world, melts with the heat of reality
And the plastic flowers in their synthetic vase
Drip down to nothing.

In the cold this mess becomes my hardened normality.