Memories faded,
Locked with no key,
Hidden in great depths,
Wandering, but not free.

A tattoo is more,
Than a blotch of ink,
A drawing on skin,
Is more than you think.

Regardless of what,
Your tattoo may depict,
The fine illustration,
Isn’t just what you picked.

It is a symbol,
Of humans alive,
And how permanency,
Is all that we strive.

But a tattoo fades,
And we do as well,
Tattoos share a secret,
That man cannot tell.

Just, before you fade away,
Tell humanity to **** it,
And go live your life,
Before you kick the bucket.

Eyes of a snake,
Slithering near,
Symbolizing terror,
Showcasing fear.

Sneaking quietly,
To unsuspecting mates,
Changing the course,
Of everyone's fates.

Firsthand experience,
For this sort of thing,
Comes with time,
And a heart on a string.

Holding your heart,
Away from you,
Protecting it from hurt,
Until you know what's true.

Hypocrisy strikes,
With an iron blade,
But the pain,
Will never fade.

It's not the concept,
Of hypocrisy alone,
But when someone uses it,
It rattles the bone.

Whether intentional,
Or just misunderstanding,
The darkness is left,
To continue expanding.

Eyes of a snake,
A crime to commit,
The story of,
A hypocrite.

We were running in the field.
She was chasing me.
I ran home and slammed the door shut.

Banging.

Laughing.

Squealing.

Silence.

. . .

I opened the door.
She was just lying there.

Bruised.
Bloodied.
Torn apart.

What I heard was just my mind playing games.


Pleading.

Crying.

Screaming.

Silence.

Waves stagger,
Tall and high,
Horizon blocked,
Ripples fly.

A boy so sweet,
Only a boy is he,
But Tom, sweet Tom,
And his tomfoolery.

They say when sick in a moving vehicle,
it is best to watch the horizon as it comes in and out of focus.

Watch it as emotions well up to the point of sickness.
Just sit and watch as trees pass your peripheral.
Trying to conceal the sickness,
trying to not let it come up to the surface.
But it stays.
It brews and stirs.

The car rumbles on and
silence
screams louder than ever before.

Don’t disturb the silence.

That’s what she tells herself.

Don’t let your breaking breaths and
muffled cries
disturb the nature of the car.


Liquid daggers rain down from the windows.
You can no longer see her soul
as it has crumbled down to
the particle it started as.

Not a seed,
just a speck.

These daggers drop in

deathly,
dreary
silence,

they dance

down

until they reach a

dead-end.
Nowhere else to go,
only more drop.

The windows have been

cracked.

No amounts of duct tape
can fix this.


Nothing left to do except sit and watch the horizon.