by Ryan Athorn

Created on: July 20, 2011   Last Updated: September 23, 2011

General Anaesthesia

Pt 1 - Thinkers Mind

I saw nothing in front of me,

But Colourful monotony,

Not a clairvoyant, but sure a voyeur - introspectively,

The back and forth beckons me,

It nullifies complexity,

Bathe in discontent and general apathy - retrospectively,

When will they hear me?

Oh bitter sweet morality,

You taught me nothing.

Obbsessively retentive of,

Conspirational incentives and,

No pious, nor scholarly pursuits.

Expressing intermittently,

What each experience might mean,

Slowly, growing,

Help save superficial peace.

Worn soliloquy,

I try to,

Amplify,

But it won't do,

When will they hear me?

Oh bitter sweet morality,

You taught me,

Naught but,

Selfless sensibilities.

 Pt 2 - Able Body

Orderly, turn your back,

Pour in the poison,

Turns us black,

Where are we without you,

And whatever my world has next,

My self imposed anesthesia protects,

Whatever the world throws next,

My anesthesia accepts.

Though, in this shell of ignorance,

I tell myself in confidence,

I’m in atrophy,

Personal incivility,

And this part hates that part of me,

What will come of me?

Of this hostility?

So I,

Stop the rot and sow the seeds, break the shell and in I breathe, I’m free.

Stronger now, but still I feel, resistance from life’s spinning wheel, but I’m free.

Woe betide my enemy, for theres one more inside of me, and beside of me,

I’m three.

I’m three.

But each new important side of me,

Has his own voice, so less I speak,

I’m still not here.

I’m still not here, yet.

All I ever longed to be,

Was me, was me, was me,

What’s happening,

What happened here.

Pt 3 - Lack of Spirit

So where do I discard, all the marred and tarred self reflections,

Self inspections,

What am I to do with all the used and used up,

Old abuse, still rooted,

Where am I to place my hands if all I touch is useless,

Where can I go, just to purge and clean and stand in silence,

Never cut or scream, or shout or ever act in violence.

What am I to do with all the used and used up,

Old abuse, still rooted,

Where am I to place my hands if all I touch is useless,

Where can I go, just to purge and clean and stand in silence,

Never cut or scream, or shout or ever act in violence.

What if I could mute their world,

What if I could hide them,

What if I could mute their world,

What if I defied them,

What if I could rule their world,

What if I exiled them,

What if I,

Anesthetized.

Worn soliloquy,

I try to,

Amplify,

But it won't do,

When will they hear me?

Oh bitter sweet morality,

You taught me,

Naught but,

Selfless sensibilities.

Worn, worn words,

You don't make a sound,

When will you,

Listen to what I say,

Mental dystrophy,

I'm asleep, wide awake.

I see nothing in front of me,

Asleep, wide awake,

I see nothing in front of me,

Asleep, wide awake,

Wide awake.

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