The devil is sitting at a table
make sure to provide top service,
and if you are somehow able,
hide that his aggression makes you nervous.
When the White House is just a smidge too white,
it might be time for us Canucks to pull a 1814.
How can someone do absolutely nothing right?
and think what will be a nightmare will help revive an American dream?

The devil is sitting at the desk,
and he’s got yes men to shine and kiss his shoes.
It was finally time for him to fail a test
but his misguided cultists refused to let him lose.
When the White House is just a smidge too white,
even if the occupant is known to be orange.
He’s shutting the gates just too tight,
rushing Capitol instead of tearing his door hinge.

The devil is sitting at a table
he’s got the finest cutlery set,
and the legs of it aren’t stable
with each wobble he places his next bet.
When the White House is just a smidge too white,
I think it needs to be stripped and gain a new coat.
Why is a symbol of oppression dressed up so bright,
when it’s walls protect one and strangle every other throat?

He “did everything right” and they indicted him;
and now we fight eachother when we should be fighting him.
These people have forgot how the world turns,
infact they believe it’s stationery and around them.
So they anticipate heat when they make the world burn,
and await a rose after they rooted and snapped each stem.

Isn’t it absolutely insane
how the free can unknowingly live in a prison?
Didn’t anyone tell you even a Hurricane
can’t cleanse American Capitalism?

I want every feeling and every confession to fall upon my hollowed chest,
'cause I'm still reeling from the last lesson, heart and head need a rest.
I'm expecting more than will ever come, but I've built you to the sky,
the breast beats resemble a drum, heart and head want to lie.

Destruction of both, resurrection of the pair,
I swore an oath that I swore I'd never swear.
Each line was read, and each word was spoken true,
and my heart and my head are always led right back to you.

Winds of winter burn my skin and the grey skies are too long of a test,
I never wanted to let anyone in, heart and head need a rest.
I can't be kept together and to prevent unravelling; I barely try.
I'm scared I'll feel this way forever, heart and head want to die.

There's always some growth, always healing of the tear,
I swore an oath that I swore I'd never swear.
The ink slowly bled, colours of red and blue,
and my heart and my head are always led right back to you.

I'll string together tender words, I'll only compile the best,
it's just too bad they're never heard, heart and head need a rest.
This is the sweetest love as even the torment has got me high,
it's just too addictive of a drug, heart and head want to fly.

Destruction of both, resurrection of the pair,
I swore an oath that I swore I'd never swear.
Each line was read, and each word was spoken true,
and my heart and my head are always led right back to you.

She bruises easily,
she says “I don’t know why.”
“I’m like the monarchy,
they just won’t let me die.”
She pinches at her skin,
“do you see what I mean?”
It’s almost paper thin,
transparent and clean.

She comes up from the dirt,
born just ready to die.
Tugs and tears at her shirt,
fixes the cloth like a tie.
Changing each mask
within each new realm
and yet she still asks,
“Who put Bella in the Wych Elm?”

Wishing for the end
since around ‘96,
calling the reaper a friend,
“there’s no problem he can’t fix.”
“I had it all but at what cost?
I see no familiar face.”
“Every person I know is lost,
in life’s dreadful marathon race.”

She comes up from the dirt,
born just ready to die.
Grits teeth against the hurt
and keeps her eyes on the sky.
Still she juggles her tasks
and she steers at the helm,
and yet she still asks
“Who put Bella in the Wych Elm?”

We fell head first on the mattress
entwined, skin sliding and tightly pressed,
biting the same shoulders we used to lean.
Fingertips cascading down like a waterfall,
she read my eyes and translated the scrawl,
an impeding collision has never been so serene.

Living within the lines of the same page;
total freedom or lion’s cage,
comfortably in the middle or in between.
I’m knotted and tongue tied,
overcome with silent speeches of pride,
specializing in the coldest heat that I’ve ever seen.

When all you’ve got
is what you’ve stole or what you’ve bought,
what’s in your soul; the wars you’ve fought
what you’ve grown or what is rot.
When all you’ve done
is intense pain or mindless fun,
it’s endless rain or blinding sun
it’s unknown but just begun.
Homegrown and a home run.

Once more, a dark room all about me
shadows slick and embracing;
an empty void to the right.
Silence growing so deafening,
stronger than I could ever be,
another waste of life and a night.

When all you’ve got
is what you’ve stole or what you’ve bought,
One more *** hole in a parking lot,
what you found and what you’ve sought.
When all you’ve gave
was what you wanted or you crave,
scrimped with intentions to save,
losing steam while staying brave.
One foot out the door,and one in the grave.

All my past lives
that survives
each crash with every drive.
I’ll wake up; derived
but contrive
resurrection and revive.

Here’s to the perfect crime,
performing it for the thousandth time.
Sublime and in your prime,
but with a prayer rip off a layer
of permanent grime.

I am split in half,
right down the middle in perfect symmetry.
One side wants to laugh,
while the other floats in purgatory,
and I didn't want to rip at my guts,
I'm just begging for these thoughts to finally die,
as the feelings are like paper cuts,
not unlike soap in the eye

Your clear crystalline perfect sea
 touches and mix with my cloudy waves and sand.
They don’t crash together with speed or violently;
slowly fit together; lacing fingers together on each hand.

You’re wearing rings of rose gold
those around my eyes are black and blue.
Both sets of them are not so old,
but they’re also certainly not very new.

Counting the weaving constellations,
counting the bright and endless stars.
I made the story just an abbreviation;
just like my cuts birthed from my scars.

You’re wearing rings of rose gold
those around my eyes are black and blue.
The weather’s been awfully cold,
but your warmth has got through.

You’re wearing rings of rose gold
those around my eyes are black and blue.
Though this may come off as too bold
but I’ve always been inlove with you.

So feed my body to the fishes,
but make sure to keep my heart around.
Like a genie it could grant your wishes
but you’ll have to endure the sound.
Put it underneath the floorboards
just like in the Tell-tale Heart,
and set a timer for how long you can ignore
the lasting pounding once it begins to start.
I’m sure it’ll drive you mad,
I’d bet whatever’s left of me,
and would it even be so bad
to add another drop of water to the sea?

You’ve been barely living on the shelf
I know cause I once lived there myself,
denying and depriving my state of health
and doing it all while dwindling my wealth.

Many times closed the door but never turned the lock,
freeze right down to my core when there would come a knock

A broken heart
in a broken house
in the perfect dark
no one stirring but a dying mouse.
A broken spine
in a broken shell
atleast this body’s mine
I feel I’ve earned this hell

I’ve been praying for any release
or even a small hint of some relief.
It’s starting to get hard to even keep
my head above water; continue moving my feet.

I begin to see the days; how they fade away
if I’d have known I would never have shown
my critique of their shade of grey.

A broken heart
in a broken house,
both’s been ripped apart
and the flames I’ll douse.
A broken spine
in a broken shell,
I won’t say I’m fine
I won’t claim I’m swell.

I swear I’m just like the Sydney Kormoran,
peaceful illusion gliding upon the open seas.
But underneath the exterior there’s a devious plan,
you’ll be catching strays, with each blow of the breeze.
History can’t always be a pleasure cruise
sometimes it’s just a collision course,
there’s no such thing as a fair way to lose
when you’re on foot and they’re on horse.

Atleast there’s this sad sick satisfaction
that if we lost the good atleast the bad went down.
It was as unplanned as any spontaneous ****** action,
that both battleships sunk instead to where they were bound.

If there’s a story to learn besides making sure history doesn’t repeat,
it’s to keep an eye on whoever’s passing near.
They could be a savior, an angel, a liar or a cheat
but rule of thumb is to make your signal letters clear.

A beauty that’s rarely seen,
only reserved for the May queen.
Dancing under her midsommarstang
when the time speeds up but it still seems so long.

We can share some codependency
we can share some trauma and blood.
If you were to leave it would be the end of me,
is this the type of story we tell of love?

Sadly there’s some poetic irony
of the horror when you witnessed the elders jumping,
still human enough but too lost to see
you were in the line; one day to be waiting.

Confuse possession with protection
mistake bare empathy for tender caring.
When’s the last time you felt needed affection
except for the wrong type others are sharing?

And at the very end of it all
you’ll have a face full of tears,
‘cause even a May Queen has to fall
within the changing of season in the years.
And you won’t even care
if it’s freedom or a new type of prison,
‘cause atleast someone will be there
to cry with, to hold you and listen.

I’m not thrilled of open water
I always liked my feet on dry land.
But the days are getting hotter,
I’ll have to deal with my toes in sand.

Dreams got me thinking of a sun
so hot it could toast my skin.
Stick a fork in me and call me done,
and let the feast begin.

Sometimes I think and sometimes I wish
that I had the courage to just jump ship,
and pray that the sirens
would guide me to the islands.
The water’s fine to take a dip,
do I have the courage to jump ship?
I’ll be searching for the sirens,
hoping I can still find them.

I get pulled in with currents of my emotion,
I gave up swimming as soon as it started.
Because who in this world can fight the ocean,
when it wants you to be departed?

Dreams got me thinking of palm trees,
leafs so big they create a world of shade.
Feeling of a nice summer breeze
cutting me up like a razor blade.

Sometimes I hope the fabric of reality will rip,
and that I gain the courage to just jump ship,
and pray that the sirens
would guide me to the islands.
Teeth are shaking just like my lip
do I have the courage to jump ship?
I’ll be searching for the sirens
hoping I can still find them.

I want to live amongst the waves shining
like gold paint,
but I’ll only ever find my silver lining
if I become an angel or a saint.
Yet I’ll hope that the sirens
can take my demons and blind them.

I thought I fell again into an old friend,
but it seems it was only a mirror.
I roll the dice, convinced I can pay the price,
on about she screams out but I can’t hear her.

Who’s worse, the one who steals the memories
or the one who just gives them away?
It seems whatever is remaining of me
is the only part I didn’t wish to stay.
I’ve got fingertips pressed to the temple,
pushing inward forcing it to shake.
I’ve won the battles of heart but not the mental;
my brain fires pebbles at the glass hoping it will break.

Take the path less walked on
make sure to leave no tracks behind.
Even if it ends up being wrong,
you won’t be able to change your mind.
There won’t be any mile markers,
no breadcrumbs and lacking footprint.
The hunting dogs coming won’t be barkers;
next time drop your fingernails or lint.

Who’s worse, the one who steals the memories
or the one who just gives them away?
Don’t mean to keep them in the treasuries
but didn’t expect to see them stray.
I’ve got fingertips pressed to the temple,
pushing inward forcing it to shake.
With each thought just more sentimental
but I’m questioning if those feelings are fake.

Put your foot down on the gas
say “shut up and drive”
and with each town we pass,
I’m surprised we made it out alive.
This may just be the last
time that I emotionally dump or strive.
No this isn’t confession, it’s not mass,
it’s a witch hunt in the shape of a bee hive.

Who’s worse, the one who steals the memories
or the one who just gives them away?
Turned centuries into accessories
then didn’t like how much they weigh.
I’ve got fingertips pressed to the temple,
pushing inward forcing it to shake.
It stopped being a problem or detrimental
when I laid the dead flowers at the wake.

You wanted my words
you’ve wanted my thoughts,
and all that you’ve heard;
It’s my heart that you’ve got.
Love I’m right here
and I forever will be,
my lips will brush your ear
for all eternity.

I’ll bathe in your soul
and I’ll drown in your eyes
you will make me whole
and you will light my skies.
Love; I am blind
for you’re all I can see,
but I will never mind
for all eternity.

She speaks to me in poetry
in calligraphy and with cartography,
and bestows upon me these blessings;
endless dreams and epiphanies.
I correspond with you and you to me,
attached and complimenting eachother as a wave to the sea.
Upon our flesh two puzzle pieces as each completing,
Darling I could never resist, quickly defeating.

You keep each secret like a stone
before you put it into your pocket.
And I don’t ever want you to feel alone,
you’ve got me locked up like a locket.
Your luscious hair isn’t the only weight
that lies upon your soft shoulders.
And I just want to be in your future and current state,
so let me pick up and carry those boulders.

So please don’t you ever abandon me
like Lipton’s alligator soup and Altoids sour candy.

This didn’t happen overnight,
pushed all boundaries out of sight.
Don’t know their next step but it can’t be right.
Their grubby hands covering your eyes,
wicked tongues whispering blatant lies.
No confirmation for their alibis.

If a group of like minded people
can storm the Capital why not a steeple?
A sanctuary that’s built for predators.
For those who stormed Capitol Hill
why can’t they now go in for the ****?
Maybe too busy running from creditors.
I’m just so annoyed with the American void.

So many questions all over a vote;
they tried to mutiny like on a boat,
but now not asking why there’s no note.
With all those riots that were in the street,
willing to take a bullet or join the line to be beat,
no asking why someone special got an extra sheet.

If a group of like minded people
can defeat police then why not the bald eagle?
Just another symbol for freedom and justice’s joke.
For those who stormed Capitol Hill
does it not drive you crazy to now stay still?
Maybe too distracted by the war of Pepsi vs Coke.
I’m just so annoyed with the American Void.

If people can go missing why can’t files,
same with pedophiles and certain isles?
It’s funny how they gave away,
the ones we already knew what they’d say.
If people can go missing why can’t files,
same with pedophiles and their trials.
It’s funny how they gave away,
the records of JF & ML K.

Apparently there’s a minute missing every night
I guess we know when the time to strike is right.

They call them the Kings of Bones,
torching the  villages and the homes.
Saying they’re done with the ******* and moans
they’re expected to hear when upon their thrones.

So tell me is a battlefield even real
if it isn’t littered in blood, limbs and steel?
The bone kings only receive their end of the deal
if they offer up those who support them for the next meal.

So with scraped and ****** knees,
how are they to pray or please?
If our heads are always bent,
does worship even hold any sentiment?

So tell me is it really a done deal,
just like in guns, germs and steel?
The bone kings take what they want, act as they feel.
They tear all apart and neglect to place a seal.

They’re all too busy reading out of date scripture
that they’re all missing the blatantly clear picture;
Hell is empty as the devils walk the earth.
Everyone wants to rule the world,
trade gold for diamond and diamond for pearl;
doesn’t realize the reverse of worth.

Now they’re wearing collarbones around their neck,
and accessorizing every vertebrae as a ring.
Assuming this cruelty grants them respect,
really at best it’s just straight vulgarity.

But each King stands alone,
forever isolated and on their own.
So they polish a fresh bone
just to add to their skeletal throne.

I’d break into our old family home
if it was still standing tall.
Electrical cords and floorboards;
that I would finely comb.
Searching for traces of us; big or small.

I should’ve taken the tub,
and the dryer was brand new.
I know they ripped up each stump and stub
and the yellow roses the year they finally grew.

This is just a missing piece,
this is where I used to live.
Memorized the trees and the streets,
and the faces I would greet,
to go see it again; what I wouldn’t give.

I’d break into our old family house,
if it was still standing tall.
As I dowse, no sound or a mouse,
was it ever even there at all?

Why did they lose the shed?
Why did they cover the lot?
It looks better in my head
than the day it was finally bought.

This is just a missing past,
this is where we used to coexist,
those rare family moments that I miss.
They’re now lost to the abyss,
I don’t remember the last.

I’d go back in time but
I wouldn’t want to impose.
Truth is the door is shut,
realize that road is closed.

I’m sad I don’t live there anymore,
I grew up; have my own walls and own floor.
A woman who loves me and her I adore,
but these thoughts still wash ashore.