I.
I am confined behind the walls of my very own life.
The echoing of cluttered freight trains and the laughter
of invisible clowns fill what's left of my conscience, and

the voices of old God's and hushed Devil's are my only form
of a lullaby. I'm not crazy, I'm just conscious of the overlooked.

II.
I can feel snakes when there are none. Consider this a sixth sense.
Literature clattered in the back of my throat and the top of my head,
I tried to explain this to my lover, who became increasingly

bothered by the fact that all I knew was Shakespeare, and all I spoke
of was Caesar, and the stars...to which we are underlings.

III.
A threat, they consider me. 'Not to others, but yourself.'
Fools, all of them. I was not granted a gift to have it locked away
and drowned at sea. Listen! Act! Forewarnings are scarce, and if

the Gods and the Devils have chosen me to speak, then I shall speak.
My only question: why didn't they choose someone to listen? To understand?

Every body has thier own demons
Bad spirits
If thats what you believe
Some emerge as beats in the middle of your day at an unconvinent time
But thats only if you dont deal with them
Pay attention, devils need to dance too
You see we try so hard to stay acceptable and decent in the eyes of some unseen standard
But we all need to let our devils dance every once in a while
You see the indians believed that blood
Holds all bad spirits
And once a months to free the spirits they would cut them selves in ceremony

What about you?
We all have devils
How do you let yours dance

Do you unwind with a glass of wine
Do you smoke a cigarette?
Maybe watch some television?
You see, from your eyes, the way my devils dance are disturbing, even unfathomable, harming my self?

I paint my own pictures so my devils can dance.
the only difference is that my utensil is silver but the ink comes out red
But cant you see, some of the mechanisms you use are just as bad
Alcohol is a poison
But of course thats not how you see it
Now think again
how are you
Gonna dance with your devils

Red lips tinted from a sinful kiss, eyes bluer than the cerulean sky  hanging from the heavens. Roses; roses; roses the smell of them hanging on the air in-between two pillars of insanity. Love; what was thought to be the feeling. Buried beneath shallow water; lust lingers into reality, smeared on shades of scarlet and amber.

The infidelity of the fallen angel; daring to ask forgiveness from the Devil. How do you say you're sorry? A lie on the wings of a demon, or was there a simple explanation dripping from a vile acidic mouth full of falsity. The ripe apple wrapped in nefarious green poison, waiting for a bite from the unsuspecting victim.

No, not this time, all your trickery lays hollow and exposed like brittle bones picked over from the birds of prey. Lay in your bed of dirt and soot; lay in it because you have made it. Shovel by shovel you've dug your hole. Now it's time to crawl under your blanket of lies, and rest your shameful head.