I don't remember the last time
I heard your voice
or the last time you spoke so
nice and softly to me
like you used to.
I listen to old voicemails
just to hear that voice again.
I don't know what form of torture you
would call that,
but it's like putting a drop
of water in the desert
making it long for more
but we all know water doesn't
belong in the desert.
you don't belong here
with me anymore.

By Arcassin Burnham


I've been on the surface for too long enough to know that
God has never made Somebody with the same interests i like,
Giving me the wrong influenced girls that never met any
Of my expectations to even cope through the night,
Trust I had trouble sleepin'....
Don't even know the meanin'....
Of all these troubled feelins'....
Tugging and grabbing sheets like I had a way out!

And That's why I don't trust any female to give my heart to
Cause they might end up hurting me in any sort of expense,
In the mean time there's no strings attached to any of our body parts
But some of our body parts would get so intimate,
Lost control of my feathers...
Sick and tired of this weather....
Love don't get any better...
I can't control you , if you want theres your way out!

No girl will ever love me
No girl will ever love me....

Pleading for routine
For the same breakfast from -
the same restaurant
The exact booth , the perfect
parking spot
2.5 miles home , waiting to leave
my vehicle till all traffic passed
Black coffee , orange juice , CNN
Triangular blue pill , folding work shirts
with no place to go ,
Closing blinds , cursing friends , letting
telephones ring
Writing verse , fighting guilt , planning my
next meal , crushing needed relief to
satisfy this ******* memory
Lighting creativity , forming complicated guitar
parts , locking doors* ...

I could fly like the Phoenix I'm supposed to be,
At cloud height, Cloud Nine, see everything
Were it not for the ropes that hold me down
Were it not for the bloodlust, torturous sounds
Were it not for the voices in my head
That sometimes make me wish I were dead

And maybe if I wasn't so critical
Or perhaps just a little less hypocritical
Were it not for the need to be OCPD
Straighten everything, as straight as can be

Checking my back because I'm paranoid,
That someone will appear, push me in the void
And I would swirl and spin, forever trapped
With all lights off, and no time to clap

That I would be that man, the one in black
Who would self-indulge in a self-aimed attack
Who would one day slit an artery, and just lay there
And with open eyes, unseeing, continue to stare

Glaring at the world that held him down
Glaring at the grey sky that never helped him out
Angry in death at those who tormented him, bullies
Maybe I could fly were it not for these,

Things

We stand in twilight hues...
Fingers consciously entwined in a clasp.
We speak without vocals
that crescendo between sighs and gasps.

We anticipate...
But we do not look forward...
Not to the promise of freedom and salvation.
More so the uncertainty
that resonate with the *****
of feathered morning birds.

The unknown scares us so.
We know not of what lurks,
in the impending light of day.
We simply bide the ticking seconds...
As we scramble for the right words to say.

When there needn't be such uncomfortable silence.
No need for an awkward stance.
For we've embraced the melody,
memorised the lyrics
and rehearsed the dance.

Yet...
We hesitate...
Even though we've decided that we must.
For what shadow that looms agape below us,
hurling threats of swallowing us whole,
will soon be warded off...
As quick as the errant gust.

The darkness...
Will soon be cast behind our backs.
And all would be committed to memory
as surely as it had begun.
It would dissipate as it would stretch far...
But only if we turn to face the dawning sun.

You call this art,
My constant need to write things out
For better understanding, to map them
Out on pages covered in watercolor
Paintings, my use of anything I can get
My hands on to create something
And you look at me in amazement
When I show you what I have done,
When I show you how I took all of my
Emotions and turned them into
Projects that some may find beautiful
But you don’t see the pain behind
Every word I type and each stroke
Of my paint brush or each eraser mark
Littered on illustrations I try to complete
And you don’t see that I try to mend
My broken heart with artwork so it no
Longer bleeds, this papier-mâché
Creation is all that I have that keeps me
Pieced together and
Sound of mind
And you look at me in amazement
And call it art
When really it’s just my attempt
At surviving.

By Arcassin Burnham

In all seriousness I've became what I was
Afraid of being in the beginning,
Was never in the line of winning,
Been a loser all my life while making
Choices that create the bad moments,
That I Almost forgot about sinning,
In all seriousness, I'm starting realize that
Life and love is shorter than our fingertips
That reach the stars whenever we need
Jesus,
And they say "you're very blunt aren't you?"
And I say well take a walk in my shoes
Theres nothing worse than fresh Cuts,

/

I could die a thousand deaths but at my own
Expense,
Gotta pay the price to make it right with Moses again,
There will always be some recarnation of anything that you fear or you
Cherished while your life was at the beginning stages playing
Constant melodies and buying into propaganda,
Lines are being crossed for taking everything you stand for with a set
Of hands and a heavy heart who has ya',
So listen to the paster cause he knows the trials that come with living,
Giving you obstacles and lower pensions,
There's no God like the god I know that is based on ascension,
Death only settles the score not a cost of extension.