I’m carrying a heavy bucket back from the well. Trembling hands and losing water, losing my will. When we got home, nothing was left but knots in the lease. Now I’m heading west or someplace far from the East. Cortisol and Serotonin, stable’s a thrill. Anhedonia at the surface. Here, I’m in hell. I’m carrying this empty bucket, I wanna empty myself. Because, everything is getting rid of everything else. Pacing parking lots, ignored. We are the same, but opposed. Something else is supposed to happen. You aren’t having a good time anymore. It felt easy before I left, left in dust to carry myself. I really did dig my own hole, and I’m climbing out. I really did dig my own hole, but I can see the top. I’m climbing out. I really did dig my own hole. I’m climbing out. I’m climbing out. You can smell life here, what we call life above the ground. Hands stained dirty, but there is water to wash them out. Being this age always seemed so far away. How is life here, can we bring our trash outside the house? What we call life above the ground, left in dust. Left in dust to carry myself out.
Harmlessness by The World is a Beautiful Place & I am No Longer Afraid to Die
DIY rock music enthusiast and web-zine publisher from Warsaw, Poland. Supporting DIY ethics, local artists and promoting hardcore punk, rock, post rock and alternative music of all kinds via IDIOTEQ online channels.
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