You are a waste.

Do yourself a favor and explode your brainstem.
Remove your thoughts, you're already so detached from them.
Cut off your fingers since you forgot how to use the pen.

You were more, you weren't so sick and sore.
You weren't so fucking in love with the floor.
And being below it.

Tossed away thoughts, your mind withers and rots.
Cast aside passion, weakness is the new fashion.
Fuck you for being the weak one,
and fuck you for turning to run.
Best of luck running through the briar,
when you get caught don't call me the liar.

I've summoned the most power I possibly could
I think it's time you finally fucking stood
on your own two feet
smell the concrete
before I make you taste the fucking curb.

Metaphorical Metabolization.

Transnational hypnosis.
Genetically inherit misanthropist.
The stainless steel doorknob, of brushed metal keeps turning.
The bolt keeps spinning, the chamber filling.
Emptying.
The firing pin can't keep up.
The barrel rising in temperature.
Tubes in the box behind the screen,
Filling my retinas with images I've already seen.
I've imagined worse.
The unstoppable force.
Stay the course, keep firing, dirt flying.
They're numbers dwindling, slowly dying.
Their mouth bears the wrinkles and creases of every last failure.
Their eyes, mucus in the corners, circles underneath, staring at the floor, every step unsure.
Nose is a floodgate for their friends and family to open.
Fists unscathed, as if they could never defend.
Withered, insecure, powerless, beaten and terrified.
They couldn't establish high ground if they even tried.
I'm winning the war.
I will always win,
your life is a fucking metaphor.

Biblical Incest.

Searching for salvation is like striving for starvation.
Waiting for revelations, gazing through constellations.
When does the predator learn predation?
Born with the hunger and thirst.
Never be in first,
all your enemies behind you.
Picking through, swallow and chew.
You are food.
Nothing more
than table scraps,
left to the floor.
Trail riddled with bear traps.
Shotgun shell trip-lines.

Stainless steel
shines
just as
teeth in
darkness.

Gnashing, clawing, ripping, tearing.
Passing, tripping, falling, uncaring.
The fear drives you deeper,
terrified of those you've left behind.
The hill becomes steeper,
the landscape is not kind.
It wants you dead just as the rest.
Give up.
This isn't a test. You're the pest.
Biblical incest.

Life 'N Stuff

Memory gaps, addict relapse

Brain prolapse

Calm down, relax

Words racing, raging

Spacing doesn't matter

Pages torn and tattered

Scattered through the hall

Building towers so tall

Watching them fall

Looking back, now

Crooked brow

Consciousness found

Conscience bound

I don't appall or astound

Nothing is renowned

It's predictable

But I am not dull.

Excuses, excuses

Words produce this

Terror

Words were the error

Actions were unsure

Too bad the solution wasn't the cure.

Mind stick

Neck crick

Stiff spine

The blood I found isn't mine.

When I was young, I would concentrate so hard on what I was doing. That I forget how I got from place to place. 

When I got older, I would think so hard that I didn't pay attention to what was going on around me.

Looking forward, I hope I don't act so much that I forget to think or concentrate.

I've never been a man of motion. Let the current of the ocean control my body, I'll ponder the rest. 

I'll steer myself with slight movements like a rudder. A blink, a quick turn, a shudder.

Decisions from here on out, void of selfishness. Void of self-based incentives.

Two steering in the sea of fools. Refusal of regulations or rules.

Cowardly winds bearing down on the sail. Leaving not so much as a footprint on our trail.

For our trials, tribulations, retaliations, obligations, and passion. We will achieve nothing less than perfection.

Perfectionists? no. Perfect individuals? no. But together we are unstoppable.

The last romantics.

HEADACHE

        Wait for the medicine to kick in. The strain in my neck unbearable. The sides of my head caving in. Biting my lips off, fearful.

         Thousand yard gaze. Staring into space in a daze. Sitting for what seems like days. Raising my fears, holding back tears. Void of emotion. Seasick from the invisible ocean.

          Imagining ripping a man's face apart, turning the wall behind him into a work of art. Lifting his head up high, dropping it on my knee for a relieving break. All this for the simple fact that I have a headache.

          How many pounds per square inch does it take to make a person's cranium pop. Or how high of a drop. If anyone screamed, would I stop? Would I be capable of deciphering voices whilst seeing red? Or would I continue even after the bastard is dead?

          My feet sweat when I get these images in my head. My first sign of anxiety and excitement. Delightful scenes, played out in a quick jumpy hi-8 style film. My eyes begin to wander from my attention deficit. Fidgety fingers, tasting blood, gazing for miles.

I feel as though.

If I killed one man. Just one.

The rest of my life would be so much easier.

And void of headaches.

Verse, chorus, bridge.

We tore through walls. Stared through empty halls. Found sanctuary in the hearts we buried.

And we raised our glasses, to old lovers and to new wars. Time that passes and the past that will collapse under heavy corridors.

Open doors. Lying to ourselves with hearts displayed on shelves. We couldn't trick the dying days if we tried.

If only the walls could talk.

You're the verse, and I'm the chorus, and love is the bridge we've built between us.

We are not just people or a human like structure, we are the song of our generation with hearts ready to rupture.

We spoke, throats trying not to choke, on the words we did not dare to speak.

We paralyzed our thoughts, but time didn't stop. God damn the hands on the wooden clock.

We found our way, we faught the day.

We uncovered ourselves before our bodies decayed.

....i'll come back to this. Spur of the moment thought.

Here's your effort.

Before the flames lick your heels.
Before your skin rots and peels.
After you tear your eyes out.
After you stamp your feet, scream, and shout.
Until you succumb to your self-fulfilled prophecy.
I don't wish for you to lay your god damn eyes on me.

Taking and taking
your knees shaking
mind breaking
keep manipulating

Faking your way
you'll see the day
with eyes set upon a grave
a gravel road you forgot to pave.

Pot holes on every turn
it was your own bridge you decided to burn.
And with a face, stern. Showing no concern.
I will propose a toast,
"Here's to the love you'll never earn."

Who the fuck needs effort. Love comes effortlessly.