1. |
Low Places
02:45
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White lights shoot from my fist to my eyes. Claustrophobic, confined between tissue and muscle. Another night for new aches and pains. Another night spent killing ourselves over things we’d never say (I never said). We were always growing up by falling down, finding ourselves at the bottom of stubborn, youthful dregs. Nights spent sprawled across midnight-black asphalt, stomachs filled with coping methods. Catharsis through unfulfillment, eyes wide with disillusion. We lived like kings in an ivory tower. We sank like pigs in a mire of shit. We cast our stones to keep our ghosts at bay. We welcomed them home with unnerving ease. A place to lament, where we hang our heads. A place to revile, to let our walls close in. mid-life crisis on display, buried in the sounds of ending days. The hearts we’ve grown, the eyes we cast, the smiles we shine, the lies we hide. The people we’ve become are so empty. We learned to love a lie, took solace in closing our eyes (I still love this lie).
Dedicated to Behold, 2006-2009.
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2. |
Abandon
01:47
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Let your hair fall, down your shoulders, the small of your back, between your feet. Across the floor to close the distances between you and I. Let me mold you like nubile clay into something I want. Something I can use. Soft submission given to false security. A slow breath pressed between my lips, carving age lines into your face. Your eyes resemble cannon fire in the night. Rolling our heads between shoulders and hands. Sinking into moonlight (sinking into the moon’s pale light).
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3. |
Skeleton Crew
03:01
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These nights all leave me anxious and nervous, they tremor my hands. Empty pockets and worn feet, tongue tied with broken dreams. Waiting for the pieces to fall, biding time and wasting breath. Pulls my knees to my chest, rattles like slow death. Spilling my guts at your feet, onto hardwood and concrete. I have become uncomfortably numb. Sink myself into anything just to get one thing right. Sink myself into nothing; avoid the disappointment in your eyes. There’s no upside in my downside. There’s no sunrise on your dark side. Loyal to the true and few, chasing death with the skeleton crew.
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4. |
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Fighting the sleep clouding my eyes. Avoiding the dreams plaguing my mind. Looking for something to give me release, silent night terrors I’m forced to repeat. Looking for something to give me release, an endless cycle I’m forced to repeat. Blurred lines between faked smiles and bared teeth. Downtrodden soul, loathsome and low, bathed in hellfire, buried in ash. I don’t feel the way they all want me to. My voice won’t croon, my skin’s turned blue. These bones don’t shake; this heart’s a tomb (I hear you calling my name from beneath the earth, and now that you’re gone, this anger boils my blood).
Rest in peace, Jeffrey Jonathan Kemmish.
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5. |
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6. |
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Speaking to a barren room again. Filled with bodies but empty heads. No concern for preaching to the choir when all it changes is their clothes. I’ve lost my voice screaming reason and the world still won’t listen. These works are a tomb, filled with broken statutes, veiled motive and false ideals. Walking contradictions, sheep dressed in wolf’s skin. Sweat burning, blood boiling, fists pounding, the purpose buried in the sound. The year is always one, our being remains none.
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7. |
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Summer worn asphalt burned acrid death in my lungs. Killing time and pain on street corners in moonlight, buried our secrets with spray paint and stop signs. Severed youth in empty lots, on apartment floors painted with broken blind light. Pick through the pieces, pick them to pieces and making them whole. They all fall apart, they all fall into place. Passing through motions and cordial responses. Empty words on baited breath, eggshells and timid steps. A somber procession, in black celebration.
Rest in peace, Jeffrey Jonathan Kemmish.
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8. |
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My eyes avoid everything so my stomach won’t turn. I feel as cold and empty as the lines of this notebook. Disintegration repetition; comes back around to break me apart again, comes back around with my face to the floor again, comes back around like it’s the first day again. Oh-two twenty-three eleven. I’ll always wish you’d stayed ‘til the end. That sinking feeling is holding my chest again. That unanswered phone call is haunting my head again.
Rest in peace, Jeffrey Jonathan Kemmish.
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