I let your distasteful
tongue grace my back;
it feels like a hundred
tiny whips instilling faith.
I'm ugly - I get it. I am what you've
always wanted to be, so I take it.
I hope it sets you free.

I tire of waiting
for such inevitable irrelevance;
I tire from that which does not exist.
Dear Critic, do tell me a tale,
is it I or we that belong in this crypt?
Do tell for Fright lives swiftly
and a fool he is not.

Dastardly Sigh, can you not see?
A moment of silence is all that it breeds.
So please, without further ado,
****** the plot.
It hints to a line that mustn't be crossed
and for that I simply haven't a thought.

I was sitting in my car today
stressing 'bout Night's revenge
when a man in black waltzed up to me.
He placed a gun to my temple and said,
"Son, what exactly do you need?"
I looked him in the eyes
and said, "Can't you see?
I'm flying without wings.
I'm clapping without hands.
I'm running but cannot
find the strength to stand.
Do your best to bring me back
from these God forsaken lands.
Look me in the face and squeeze
that trigger like a man.

With a paintbrush in hand
I create heartfelt signs.
They litter the sky
like constellations at night;
directing you towards
no truer a sight.
But the blind must be
guiding your ship,
for you go about in circles
like a helicopter propeller in flight.

I wrote with dynamite
hoping my words would ignite
something deep inside your heart,
as if I were trying to mine the love
that resides behind those evanescent eyes.
I guess the wick was left outside
while clouds committed suicide.
Maybe I should just take their lead
and leave well enough alone;
forgetting all the attempts I made
at turning rain into snow.

I'm fine...
The phrase curls down my spine
like a snake to the vine;
strengthening my pose.
Over time the marble
lie I've chiseled stands stout
and proud; a hero to the crowd.
Years turn forgotten from that very lie,
so I carve at my skin
with a thought I needn't forget.
To immortalize the truth
I keep coward within..
I'm fine,
but I'm not.