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Array
(
[sid] => 23213
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => In Falling
[time] => 2003-09-14 17:35:00
[hometext] => I get sick of reality so often that I try to find a fantasy world where everything is perfect....but I always fail.
[bodytext] => In falling I dream of flying No more and no better than that - a dream A compelling hallucination held dear. Because falling is not the release they claim it to be Confined within a cubicle The snow ceases to soothe And the winds whisper no more Naked and vulnerable for all who choose to see And belittle all my gaping fears I've always dreamt of a honeyed death But scent betrays me and I trace only rot in my overcast grave. In falling I dream of believing That I will land in utopia A heavenly site of peace and perception But scarcely do I reach the ground Then I open my eyes and discover This hapless reality, so scarred and undesirable And dying I nurture the fever in me And disfigured I bear the whipping on my nails And headstrong I refuse to heal the lacerations And sinning the smoke vapours as one with burning flesh And soulless I dance in a pool of bleeding madness And smouldering I wreck and wreckage is me In pleading I cease and ashes become me - Me; still dreaming of falling... [comments] => 3 [counter] => 166 [topic] => 49 [informant] => Avarice_Riot [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => mystical )
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