I pity the fool
who envies angel's
because to become holy
means
losing
your
humanity

Oh wretched, filthy, witches of thee,
tell me,
am I the sinner you want me to be?

I have longed for the moment,
where kindness turns against me,
and karma
overtakes me.

Years of forgiveness show no purpose,
vengeance is now the only truth I hold,
knife in one hand,
mercy in my imagination.

Drive me to the point beyond repair,
your magicks were illusive,
when I was fighting the spell,
it was draining me of 'nice' energy.

Your goal was never to **** me all in oneself.
Oh no,
A goal I could not see,
It was to drive me to broken glass
shards of pain
against melancholy skin,

oh,

it was... it was to make sure my anger was not relieved after it was gone,

b
u
t

to make me regret it for the rest of my days.

My blood still boils like your cauldron,
I still regret,
that I let
thee witches
push me
over
the
edge.

Sometimes I find comfort
in the thought
that
no one cares
or loves me,

simply because,

it is easier to want to die
without the guilt
that I leave behind
a soul
to
ache
for
me.

Stop milking your pain,
acting like blood is still pouring
when its been dried for years.

You hold onto the slightest of things.
You keep the stitches in even when the skin is all healed.
Let go of the pain from your body.

Well I did.

But what you failed to realize
there were broken bones
under skin.

I may have healed,
but they have reset themselves
in painful positions.

And I'm terrified of breaking them again,
even if it means
less pain
in the future.

But my mistake,
for wearing my heart on my sleeve.
I apologize for the annoyance.
I shall go back to
silence.

Do not wonder the cause of my death,
for poisoned words of yours
will be the
only
culprit.

At least
I will never have to
hear
them
again.

For my sins
I shall rot
in the caskets
of my enemies
and this punishment
is anything
but
divine.

Guns drip in your metallic coolness,
character breaks as often
as a bullet.

But who am I,
to judge a man
by his stoic presence,
than by his
gentle nature.

Gray soaked in silver linings,
I await for you here,
for that cool touch,
once more.

Sunlight streams from my dreams,
the forest of my imagination.
Near dawn, up all night long,
adventures, I have stories to tell.

Of danger, of fun, of tranquilitiy,
all because I live life on the run.
The trees arch over me,
protecting me.

God bless the streams of water, cold, refreshing.
I let the cold streams replace veins, giving my hot blood a rest.

The bushes are filled with metaphors!
The leaves, brush up against me.
The flowers sway like the faint,
and show their inner beauty.

The wind whispers song of old in my ears.
Forbidden tunes that words cannot describe.
The shade makes for a wonderful blanket, sheltering me from the heat.

Inner peace flowing and floating in the water next to me.
Seeming just out of reach,

until I get here.

The forest of my imagination.

There is fragility
ready to break
at the edge of the glass
that are her words.

She is shattering beauty,
a weeping angel.

Hearing Holy cries
has shattered me,
and I felt every bit of her pain
with each sob.

Oh my darling,
Your Icarus heart,
has flown too close
to your sunny
optimism.

You have fallen
into your disappointment
once again.

Devils hear your cries
but dare not triumph.

You strike fear
even when
vulnerable.

I think I found myself again
but I don't know
whether or not
I missed her soapy scents.

I bathe in his melancholy smiles,
Shy glances like sunrays,
Warmth forever fills me.

I crave serenity
when surrounded by
this noise.

Not even music is an indulgence
that blocks it out.

I do not know quite what it is,
but it lurks everywhere.

Unintelligible noise
never telling me
what
it
wants.

I have an insatiable
hunger,
yet I cannot taste
your presence
through the sickness
on my tongue...


even when you're close to me.

Paint me blue with energy,
Gatorade bottles spilled on me,
take away the sadness of today.

Your love cuts like stained glass;
oh so beautifully
painful.

Clarity does not equal depth,

But depth often requires clarity.

Melancholy smiles
hide scenery so nice.
Blooms of clouds
rain heavenly drops
and Earth's greenery
is watered once more.

Cool night cold and wet.
God's tears roll down Earth's cheeks,
and hide in the ***** past.

Once more I am here,
admiring wet, cold, moonlight
once again.

You have scarred me
with your wings
and left me

for the Devil.

Youth is filled with waterfalls,
everything is crashing down,
but at least we look
good
doing
it.

At the bottom of the ocean,
fearing not being
deep enough,
and grabbing a shovel,
in hopes that drowning
will bring someone beauty.

I woke up
with an argument
in a dream,
and a song in my head.
Is my anger
as fictitious
as I want it to be?
Or have I a need
to leave my words
in the dreaming realm
once more?

She wore ****** like a look.

Intent engraved in future gravestones.

Dirt colored eyes of determination.

Future souls echoed cries of anguish
with the sound of gunshots.

Piercing bullets named words.

Music notes as soap,
wash away the dirt
of today,

Some melodies melicious in nature,
Mangle and Mark my mind with

Old memories.

Other melodies, clean cut chords
A chorus of nostalgia
Soap hitting the bathroom floor
Never sounded so peaceful.

Lyrics like lily pads on
bass boosted lakes,
I bathe in it's divine,
drowning devilish days.



I could scrub this ***** soul clean
with the purity of sound.
I long to be cleansed.
And sweet scented soaps,
do just that.










If anything is clean, it is not what we touch, but what we hear, admiring a beauty, without its destruction.

You are faced with two roads.

One leads to eternal peace,
a longing,
a need,
from the chaos of your life,
it is a constant promise
as steady as the sun
and the moon.

One leads to adventure,
excitement jumping off
the edge of a bridge,
mountains tilting their snow caps
in your respect,
danger is a wide grinning gate
yet
it is so tempting.

Given the choice:
Which would you choose?

Who am I
to ask you to stay?

Does the moon beg
for the stars to shine forever?

I think not.

The familiarity of home
Even when Hell
Is a fleeting feeling
Of comfort
And excitement
All in one.

Travelers know it too well.
Nostalgia painted in stains on the walls
A crimson crayon catastrophe
That left us in tears
But God, did it bring back
Memories.

Hell

But familiarity.

It's incredible how we forget
That the warmth
Comes from flames
So quickly.

And how welcoming it feels
When you've been cold.

Home.

There is no glory
in war.
Your heroes are forever
stained with the sound
of whizzing bullets
and spilled guts.
The soil shall no longer produce
fruit nor anything sweet.
The ground was watered with blood and death.

There is no more life in it.

There is no law
stating that the holy
are beautiful...
There is a reason
why Hell
is HOT.

I am live wires in water.
My circuit of thought has been broken
Left me short-circuiting in the ocean.
Electrical bursts escape me
names thoughts
so incoherent
But almost spastically beautiful.
I need no one else to complete these wires
But I must find own current once more
Before I run out
Of
Power.

I love like honey,
slow,
sweet,
and thick.

The milky way
is our milkshake.
The ocean
we eat in scoops
of sea breeze ice cream,
foam, whipped cream.
Sunsets we drink as tea,

And the beauty in this world,
we devour with quick haste,

before it spoils away.

The fruit of the womb
produces the
finest
flowers.

I'd rather die
than be in remission
for sins
I committed
that I never asked
to be forgiven.

Purity is an obsession
until we remember
mixed drinks
exist.

Familiarity strums melodies
on my heart strings.
Now beating to the beat of the song,
immerse thyself,
body whole
into the music.

Silent escape,
through earbud tunnels
on places between the journey
allow for relaxation.

Now floating in calming sensations,
a touch I know by ear,
allows me comfort.

My soul is not something
you can portion into pieces.

I refuse to be cut up with kitchen knives,
a meal ready for you to devour.
What am I to you?
But a quick snack,
but a cheap bite?

No, I refuse.

I refuse to be your side dish
any longer.

You've bitten off
more than your small mind
can chew.

And now you will choke
and spit it out.

You get my scraps now,
and have the nerve to complain.

So I stopped feeding you
pieces of myself
anymore.

I have become a complete meal
once
more.

Fire ran wild in her blood,
licking the walls of arteries
begging for sweet escape,
in the sound of an alarm
pounding in her chest.

Awoken by the screams
of her own ****** soul,
hell runs through her veins,
and her mind...

the throne to it.

Humans are not the black and white
concoctions we want them to be,
they are solid marble statues,
set in liquid stone,
always changing
but always remaining whole.

Sometimes illness
is a silent theif.

It slowly takes;
money,
time,
friends,
family,
joy,
childhood.


Illness is a silent thief,
but honey I'll fight it,
for you.

There is wonder and trouble amiss
the sea speaks to storms,
rain becoming war
between what can drown better
the sound of the storm
or the ocean's waves no more.

Me and my problems
are like glass stained rain.
With clarity they show themselves,
soaking the glass
but there I stand,
unamused,
watching and doing nothing.

The familiarity of tiredness,
blur fuzzy lines at the edge of my vision,
eyes shutting down
like a computer that's run out of battery,

unexpectedly.

Limbs fall loosely leaves to the bed
and crumple into a pile
of the scraps of a human.

Whatever life eats and wastes,
the leftovers always end up
sitting on the bed,

sleeping now, refusing to
embrace the cold refrigeration
of the night.

The stars eat up her light once more.

Cut the valves of my heart
with the thorns
of your flowers.

You put seeds
in my blood,

I watered it
with my cries

a garden grew
in my body...

that I never asked
to be planted.

I slip on icy words,
water rising through the cracks of consciousness,
I know not how I drowned,
but I do know
why
I'm
cold.

I dream of clarity.
An uncluttered mind,
without trash can thoughts
tossed on the floor.

Without clothes of memories,

spilling sleeves of old summer days,
ripped jeans of schools return,

spewed in the floor.

I crave the feeling of
pristine handwriting
inscribing perfect letters
onto patterns of speech.

Instead I speak like doctor's handwriting,
occasionally intelligent,
but rarely discernible.

I lay my head on
the tangled bed of lies
I  built,
and dream of clarity
once more.

Angel's wear
sinner's blood
in veins
that are
not
theirs.

Her laugh sounded like wind chimes,
her body holds secrets untold.

Her eyes shone like the moonlight's sky,
her story broken, left to unfold.

Her beauty was an ocean's depth,
and what's been done has been done.

To every line of beauty she has,
a broken one has begun.

And the galaxies collided,
As a punch landed,
The supernova of emotions
An incredible tribute to the destruction.

A bruise of a galaxy forms on her hip,
Starry night encompasses sweet lullabies
Only she can hear
The comforting sound of the void
Calling her name.

Her soul dripping in moonlight,
The craters of her skin,
From meteorites that landed there.
She does not adore the crevices
Her rock body provides her.

The planets align
For the perfect time
To run away again.

A situation she wants but no longer controls,
There is fleeting and there is feeling
And whichever one she is,
She assures herself its normal.

Her black hole
Has become her universe
Her normal.
A comforting cloud of dust whirls so fast
Her head spins with its ideas.

She is the universe,
The one with the stardust soul
Longing for its supernova
Once more.

To go against the institution
one was raised in
takes bravery
that is unbeknownst
to man.

Money clips the angels wings,
dollar bills used as gags,
Her intelligence a winged creature,
that in this economy, was only meant to crash.

The coins rattle like the chains
she wore around her neck.
Education was a heaven she longed to gain,
But she was only met with hells debt.

The price of freedom all too high,
the money gets you respect.
Her intelligence wilts like a flower under the sky,
in her grave, wasted, now it sits.

Lessons learned from life alone,
for her,was never enough.
She yearned for something more, a skill or craft to hone,
But "Hey kid, life's tough."

So the money now in bags,
buried in places she would never see,
a secret and more hidden rich wrath
that was all just a product of greed.

Flower petaled bruises,
circle the iris of your eyes,
ivory colored smoke leaving lungs
that wished they didn't breathe.

"It's a slow suicide,"
a cigarette flicked to the side,
the ash like my mind,
falling to the ground.

Scents of smokes and blokes,
blood runs thick on the face
of a thin mind.


I open sixteen eyes.


Awareness gained with each year,
your senses awaking them.


I will remember.

My mind asleep, now awake, parched of knowledge.
I gulp down your image,
your name,
an address,

all in hopes of just that; hoping.

Hoping that you will not remember,
hoping forgiveness is not too far off...

Remember honey,
















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