Night Terrors

There is no release for me.
I want to scream in the night. I want to beg for a fight.
I want to punch their fucking skulls in.

I am left to quiver in the dark.
There is no one there to accept the hate, no one left to hear my fate.
There is gray matter, focusing on what doesn't matter.

They call me crazy by day.
My screams interrupt in daylight, they impede by the moonlight.
My screams never implore anyone to give a shit.

My screams are raging inside my head.
They can't hear what it is I need, or know the sounds that make me bleed.
They live to stop the bomb from becoming.

I am alone, just praying to scream, just begging for one sound to block the next dream.
I am alone, hating all that shows, hating the ignorant, hating all I know.

Destruction of Gray

Her heightened ignorance was total bliss.
Just imagine the dark clouds that she could miss.
As it sat there, patient, in its pale nimbus cage,
she would smile & play, never succumbing to rage.

She would dream of new monsters & sour delusions,
waking to relax, knowing they were all illusions.
Were these hints at the future? The waiting & the praying...?
Did this make Mommy cry at what the doctor was saying?

Surely, these thoughts did not enter her musings,
story books & math were all she found confusing.
She would cooperatore tomorrow, pick up her toys off the rug,
and make sure she had enough time to give Mom an extra hug.

She didn't ask many questions; she knew she'd be okay.
After all, she had her teddy bear, and tomorrow was another day.
So while her parents had to argue, and took the time to weep
the angel they were fighting for softly sang herself to sleep.

Dedicated to Her Enemy

Through the binomial nature of nomenclature
comes the stain of the past. It's no woner you hate her.

Through the corridors you file, being caught by denial,
and never escaping the clutches of Belial.

The past is still a dream, and no mortal hears you scream,
and the serpents still rise through the dust & the steam.

The future is still unclear, and it's still fraught with fear,
and still not a damned thing left that you can hold dear.

Ellipsis.

The deep set eyes of one who knows,
one who sees, but never shows...
The tunnel vision of one with faith,
but one whose thoughts are full of hate...

The only antidote is what these needles bring,
the joy that can come forth whenever you sing...
But these interludes & faint distractions only come so often,
and in the meantime all I see is closure in a coffin...

Bleeding now, the question stands,
the evidence is on these hands...
Slipping now, the question will fall,
and the casket will still roll down the hall...

At One, At Once

As we sailed into the seas of uncharted desperation,
there is nothg but your absence to cause exasperation.
While love was once a mystery, a journey not worth taking,
loneliness is now a forgotten friend, a pain not worth faking.

You took my hand and showed me strength never before on display,
and made me question everything, even how I'd lived this way.
Fear became the enigma, courage sitting on my shoulders,
where once I'd sit right in the back, I now show up much bolder.

So, how come when I've only just found you, you must go away,
if I want to keep on talking to you, I must learn to pray...?
I know I'll undertake this, though, with all that you have taught me.
I'll face up everyday, now, with these new eyes that you brought me.

1/4

I've been dead for 25 years
and way too many shirts are soaked through with tears.
I've been laughing myself through the anger
and everyday brings a brand new set of fears.

I've been dead for 25 years
and seen the demise of all my inspiration.
I've scratched words of faith in my skin
and everyday I'm closer to complete desperation.

I've been dead for 25 years
and 15 of those since childhood's end.
I've been told that I was unwanted
and everyday I'm forced to remember again.

I've been dead for 25 years
punching the clock as the system's new toy.
I've been sure that I was important
but everyday I know I'm just a scared little boy.

Snowed In

Last night we broke the threshold
and peeked through the crack in the door.
This morning we felt the new mold
as it slowly built up on the floor.

Last night we laughed like gods on fire,
every single object was there for the taking.
This morning we shade ourselves from the pyre
knowing all the kind words were just sycophants faking.

Last night our lives were sworn away by credo & by word.
We knew absolutely everything; the only way was all the way.
This morning, though, all vision is doubt, everyone is blurred,
and we know damn well we don't know shit, except fear of a new day.

Exascerbate Hate

...first will fall the despots of falsely favored nations
sleeping in peace, waking to obliterations
next will find the middle class succumbing to decrees
finding all new kinds of pain, crawling on their knees...

...and death will be a welcome burden to all of the faithless
clutching straws while losing flaws as fire melts their faces
falling victim to the kingdoms we had left abandoned
knowing only retribution, loading up their cannons...

...burn the pages of the holy books to fight the cold
as sleep becomes a luxury, a pasttime of the old
all the questions fading now and none of them are answered
as boils, locusts, red rivers replace what we called cancer...

...hypocrisy was killing me before this deadly winter
the pain I had to wallow in now no more than a splinter
for our will has taken us down and everyone is screaming
Cerberus slowly salivates, the River Styx is teaming...

'Matthew 19:24' or 'Accounts Receivable'

You just keep sucking that dick of infiniti,
proud to be the bane of divinity,
chasing that shit till you fall behind,
then seeking the holy to crawl behind.

The pockets are full & the paper is folded.
The wife is in bed & the kids have been scolded.
You pretend not to seek the help of the wiser,
while swallowing scotch & products from Pfizer.

Awake to the miracle and know your sin,
and seeing the crush of the ego begin.
The walls are still closing, the knees cannot bend,
and the soul is the last thing that you try to mend.

Family Portrait

And now we find ourselves engaged in civil war, choosing between redemption, and living with the poor. The frame is cracked, the glass is shattered, we've all been cast to sides. Each one will choose a weapon, a stance, the rule that he abides. The great enemy is dug in well, prepared now for hatred, prepared now for hell...

And the daughters bring forth tears to equal the mother's years. The unwanted son can no longer run. Father is bathed in sunlight, basking in the glow, laughing silently every second, enjoying all the show...

The landed gentry is benevolent, the gifts are always there. The peasants are distracted, they forget to miss the care. These occasions, these meetings, none by chance, and never advantage is taken, all day we're made to dance. Begging for the scraps, kissing the feet of the master, no power for ourselves, no dealing with disaster...

And how the stones do move at my command, how the fair are driven from the land. How shamefully I bestow the yoke, though told before I am the joke. Bearing witness, breaking fitness, unable to testify, breaking sweats but not for any august found here in July...

We pray not for your disappearance, but for your impossible change, some fantasized ability to let your comfort be rearranged. Your throne is built too sturdy, the foundation set in stone. So, why if you're still here do I still feel so alone?

endtime paradigm

these words we live by become these mantras we cry become these notions we chuckle at as we die

these friends that ring true become these spectres we cling to become the beautiful gravestones we drunkenly sing to

this music to our ears becomes a source of great tears becomes a reflection of failure and our enduring fears

this love we trust in becomes this cage we rust in becomes the unending battle we think we must win

this money we treasure becomes the thief of our leisure becomes the worst possible ruler by which we measure

this sex we try for becomes the loneliness we cry for becomes the wants we don't need that we soon die for

this hate we run from becomes as steady as a drum becomes the edge & the anger to which we all come

Donkey Punched

So just what the fuck do you do when the carrot of fate is dangling deliciously in front of your big, dumb eyes, and the bastard holding it is leading you down his very own fucked up path of self-delusion & denial...? Who do you turn to when his identical scar is staring back at you every time you look in the mirror, with a twisted smile knowing exactly where you're headed, knowing you had all the choices he never had, and you may still have to make them the same damned way...?

The excuses are done piling up, the blood is flowing from the cup and I just don't give a damn anymore. An ellipsis dangling from a cliff, a frightened boy shouting 'what' and 'if', with no more knowledge than he had before.

But there is that one precious gem, isn't there? That one last motherfucker climbing into your head right before you enter unconscious bliss, letting you know that it's never going to be okay, that all the retroactive care in the world will never equal being a product of pure desire. I, the insomniac tragic protagonist, doomed to almost a quarter century of shitty sleep without 1 pleasant fucking dream ever, and this is what I get to know before the nightmares begin?

So sickened, depleated, the sins are repeated. At every turn, the son is defeated.

I wish I were at some kind of precipice, that this was some time for a turnaround, a moment of clarity.

So I care not for my image within your perception; what truth shall I find when defined by deception?

I'm done with saving you, a gift unto myself. A tired savior, a wasted favor, and I'm lucky I'm alive...*

My pain, my pride... These scars are mine**. SEVAS TRA!


*Pantera, "Living Through Me (Hell's Wrath)" The Great Southern Trendkill, 1996
**Otep, "Nein" House of Secrets, 2004

The Animal

I don't need this anger. I don't need this constant fear.
I don't need the subjugation of another year.
So I walk alone.

I cannot be burned out, and I can't just fade away,
but I can't take the stinging of another day.
So I walk alone.

I must reject the memories and sever all the ties.
I must live in denial and ignore all the cries,
and I walk alone.

As hands reach out to save me, I must smack them aside.
I must deny the frightened stares of all the heroes who have died,
and I walk alone.

If I am to save the righteous and live for what is true,
I must begin the battle out of reach from you.
I walk alone.

Who's Running

I wrote this to impress you
but now my screams distress you
and you're worried about my state of mind

The favors pulled achieve this
just to get you to see this
but you're still so scared of what you'll find

I cannot heed the warning
losing my time for mourning
this blood's been spilling from the start

So this conscience tries to bait me
but still I make you hate me
and my reach is too far from your heart

No tears, no time for reason
just like a changing season
You turn away from me again

In the wind I feel the starkness
alone I sit in darkness
what happened to your 'Let's be friends'...?

5 Minutes Alone

I'll never be what you want me to be.
I'll never see what you want me to see.
I'll never lose what you've taken from me,
but I'll never kill what you tried to set free.

I'll never hate what your words have dismissed.
I'll never let you take control of my fist.
I'll never stop 'cause I can't take the thrill,
but I'll never be the one you finally kill.

I'll never stifle who you've tried to provide.
I'll never show the tears I've held inside.
I'll never crawl over your one divide,
but I'll never choose your darker side.

I'll never stop being broken for you.
I'll never stop begging lies to be true.
I'll never cease bringing this on myself,
but I'll never die reaching for wealth.

These Wrists Have Bled

I never held a gun against my head.
I never took a whole bottle right before bed.
I never tied a noose that turned my throat red.
But my, oh my, how these wrists have bled.

I've seldom looked off buildings hoping just to fall.
Never been recklessly heroic to the wonderment of all.
I've never dropped to my knees and prayed to wake up dead.
But good God almighty, how these wrists have bled.

I've lived with faith and spiritual belief.
I've had shoulders to cry on in times of grief.
I always try to stop the endless flow of red,
but try as I might, these wrists have bled.