Another Draft Of History

If minds could break out
Of the matter that confines them to our heads
I’d sore across the collective conscious cosmos
I’d wag on the laws of time and reality
All to loan out myself for a spell
The mind of now, inhabiting the form of then

When ever I ended up when I entered the cockpit
Maybe it’ll be just as I call for the curtains
Equipped with 5 years of pain, on account of isolation
And the scene by scene of your dying soul
Well…. I’d collapsed on sight at your feet
Whatever ignorance did to tempt my young heart
It’s not worth it I swear
We found something radioactive right here
The kind of things poets and writers hypothesise about
A real home with someone, a real peace

An espers access to each other brain waves
As we pre-emptively cushion a devastating blow
The sensibilities that we leave to fade
While another improv act plays out
During a pub date, down the local dive
An audience of no one, with critical acclaim
That’s the kind of feeling I mean
When proximity produces happiness

If my mind enveloped that body, I’d tell you straight
“There’s no discovery that matches up
No chase will yield a worthy catch
My only will to live was to see us through
And with your absence I don’t know what else to do”
A plea from the future, one that’s true

Oh what a pity it is XXXXXXXXX
That we found each other way too early
To really understand what it was we found
I thought maybe it was a delusion
That it was young love’s nostalgic echo chamber
But is it really XXXXXXXXX?
Could it not be we are the means to be happy?
I’m sure you’ll escape abusive means one day
And find the one to give you a greater feeling
But what of lonely mortals like me?

Cos the fact remains from day 1
That I wanna die everyday I’m not yours
Please show me that love
Please XXXXXXXXX

Sebastian Noël

A part of the XXXXXXXXX series

Shackled (W.I.P)

Another Wednesday night spent in solitary confinement
With the soulless drones that regulate the beer stained stools
Clutching my nectar with one hand
Sinking my fingers in L’Oreal tinted forests with the other
It’d be around this time I’d of gotten your call
Bet all our wages in on branded mental antiseptics
I’m sure we knew our smiles were never true
But stricken with the weekday blues, what else was there to do?

We’re all just a bunch of confused kids
Backed up against the walls of our own convictions
The stupid things we’ll do when we’re urged to make a choice
Monetary debts, emotional obligations and clueless detective work
We’ll hang out, in an ‘outdated since the naughties’ fashion
In after hours children’s parks, as if to inspire a sense of youth

Does the empty feeling ever stop?
Does being hollow ever go out of fashion?

Channelling the spirit of the Swedish brewery itself
With it’s export valiantly nestled in your hands
You’ll re-adjust your spectacles as your turn your glare skyward
As if you’ve just clocked on to the diamond moon at the shop window
Stamping your heels into the shreds of bark
You’ll make the vow you’ll never let this town get you down
And that you won’t stop until your writing smash winter fireplace hits
As the sunset rains in through the blinds of your shoebox
With such a scorch in your belly, a gleam in your eyes
I had to say you outshone the moon

So It breaks my belief; that a life can be well spent
When I still spot your shadows around this domain, well past the due date
Caressing the scars we left behind for a sense of comfort
Entertaining silhouettes like we didn’t notice each other instantly
It breaks my heart to say; but I think this town’s got us beat
We’re both already dead, I just don’t think we know it yet

Does the empty feeling ever stop?
Does being hollow ever go out of fashion?
Does the desolate feeling ever go away?
Does being vacant ever stop feeling so right?

You deserve better then this
You deserve better then us