nessa
06-22-2001, 08:40 AM
The face that I see through the glass,
the face that is staring at me,
is black and dark with memories
and pale with exhaust.
And I am tired.
I lay me down on a bed of velvet,
you are warm next to me.
A finger wipes my face of,
it's covered with smoke and clay.
For that day is long and I always get lost,
between worlds of mine and theirs.
The face that I see through the glass,
the face that is staring at me,
I can tell it was once beautiful,
that vermilion colored it's ashen face;
like a painter that would hurl his brush against his new canvas,
showing his hurt and pain.
Brown limp curls descend sickly,
disappearing into the dark.
I disappeared once,
into the shadows of myself.
I was swallowed into the night.
Dullness is all I witness, looking straight at me.
And I will cry at night,
for the person who that once was.
Gaping at the face behind the glass, begging to be let in.
I will cry in the dark,
I will always cry for you,
beauty left to die
in the reeking swamps of life.
I can remember long ago,
I thought I saw you there,
a face of pure beauty and naivet',
flushed with rapture.
Thick curls of chestnut,
and a laughter that disappeared and died away-
into a mixture of voices.
And I beg you to tell me why,
why I cannot break the glass and touch you
and cry on your shoulder
to wash the dirt away.
For I know a face of agony,
and beauty that once filled it.
As we lie on our bed of velevt,
and you touch me,
wiping away our tears,
only then do I remember
how I once lay on a bed of dust.
You will not be able to touch me either,
or remember my face-
when I will be looking at you,
and you through the glass.
the face that is staring at me,
is black and dark with memories
and pale with exhaust.
And I am tired.
I lay me down on a bed of velvet,
you are warm next to me.
A finger wipes my face of,
it's covered with smoke and clay.
For that day is long and I always get lost,
between worlds of mine and theirs.
The face that I see through the glass,
the face that is staring at me,
I can tell it was once beautiful,
that vermilion colored it's ashen face;
like a painter that would hurl his brush against his new canvas,
showing his hurt and pain.
Brown limp curls descend sickly,
disappearing into the dark.
I disappeared once,
into the shadows of myself.
I was swallowed into the night.
Dullness is all I witness, looking straight at me.
And I will cry at night,
for the person who that once was.
Gaping at the face behind the glass, begging to be let in.
I will cry in the dark,
I will always cry for you,
beauty left to die
in the reeking swamps of life.
I can remember long ago,
I thought I saw you there,
a face of pure beauty and naivet',
flushed with rapture.
Thick curls of chestnut,
and a laughter that disappeared and died away-
into a mixture of voices.
And I beg you to tell me why,
why I cannot break the glass and touch you
and cry on your shoulder
to wash the dirt away.
For I know a face of agony,
and beauty that once filled it.
As we lie on our bed of velevt,
and you touch me,
wiping away our tears,
only then do I remember
how I once lay on a bed of dust.
You will not be able to touch me either,
or remember my face-
when I will be looking at you,
and you through the glass.