she's got a fistful of nothing
with a body full of tattoos
she's got plenty dreams
within empty smiles
and a life
that goes on an and on
for miles and miles
she's got pockets full of regret
in her threadbare veneer
a small smile of regret
beneath her trademark sneer
she's never forget
the tumultuous path
leaving her broken,
but at last
a new cobblestoned walkway
opened beneath her dainty feet
all sins remain unspoken
she's got glitter in her eyelashes
and diamonds on her cheeks
she's got ashes in her mouth
producing siren notes
as she speaks
she's got a lump of coal
in her stocking
and rocks in her shoes
she's got nothing you'd see
she's got nothing to lose
Nightmare creatures don't just live inside our dreams, where they like to feed upon our silent screams.
Nightmare creatures don't just feed upon our silent screams, they continue to form teams, to float boats on the streams of our tears. They waft gently upon our fears and slake their desire upon the funeral pyre of our fantasies. Then break us down with fallacies that families are ecstasy when only should we feel pity. Nightmare creatures that inhabit our dreams scream ecstasy when we deny family but only in a dream, it seems, our nighmare creatures can only get the best of us when we choose to stage a scene.
Every drip from bleeding pen
will forever drop
into an ocean
of broken hearts and distant shores
drowning hopes and flailing flaws
Every line, a path to cross
detailing every love lost
Every hate turns into crime
presenting as a moment in time
failing are the words
sitting as wingless birds
as Winter settles
upon us under snow clouds
we allow to own us
Our words will ever fail
leaving a faint trail
that allows me to find you
but only if you speak true
Speak to me
so I feel rhythm
give my heart beat a rhyme
break me out of this prison
where words have failed me
I'm done being a prisoner
for committing no crime
And the old habits once that led to good times
are just now old addictions
it wasn't supposed to last
to see another day
now it's fifteen years.
With the scars we bare
the shackles sting
we forged a prison
only to never see past the bars
Empty scenes and the faces
I no longer recall
I'm beyond the edge
welcome to the abyss.
Fuck the greetings lets just start this
as strangers who have grown all to familiar to the flame.
The story is there I just don't care to recall.
Perhaps because you sit there
at the edge of a fiery pit
casting memories into a flame
that were never legit
mocking the chains that hold me
casting aspersions to the skies
when did you get so close
to Purgatory, held hostage
by others lies?
Unchain me from this misery
how so easy it is to forget
the path taken to Ecstasy
is scarred with arrowed hearts
something more scary than
Lost Love and littered with
bones of Regret
You know the story well
you feed the fire with it's ripped pages
As in wasted lies and tattered pages nothing feeds a fire like a good dose of delusion.
No more do I view the possibilitites, simply count the days and escape further into myself.
Sometimes we find within the depths there are no clear answers .
Sometimes locked within we find just more emptiness and nothing more.
Old tracks and new scars together keep company with stories
I care no longer to tell.
The page as it was before you is as broken as before we met.
Does it all ever truly change or just become as twisted and bitter as I?
Do we wish to re read old stories, those that shattered into glass?
Do we want to tell the same old tales? Should we even try to rehash?
Sitting in the darkness, tracing old scars, feeding the fire from pages
that are not who we really are.
Wishing we were progeny of those that had it good.
Thinking we are better than most but they misunderstood
that we stand in front of the fire, feeding it pages from our book,
never understanding all the mistakes that we took.
Never understanding that we listen to our conscious as we lay,
never understanding there was a price we had to pay.
We tell old stories out of the same old lies
In seconds and empty barrooms taking comfort in space
and drowning in distance .
We wore this disguise, we no longer can recognize our own reflections .
Sometimes truth is the only thing that keeps us from the destruction
all of it built upon lies .
The tides change, taken to a distant shore only returned like a message in a bottle,
discovered long past our time .
Why weather the storm when we always preferred it’s chaos my dear?
Old wrongs would be far easier if not feeling ever so right .
Sometimes you have to follow a dead-end for the pure hell of knowing.
And in that dead end we find the final passage of the book
Written in blood, scratched upon the walls,
tucked away in some hidden nook, in a corner
where we like to hide our eyes.
The final lines of a storm damaged mind, a wrecked soul cast upon a lonely
tide, the final words scratched into scars that wind around a body like a
The last three words scribbled in a bloody mess..
What a joke!
In empty crowds and fallen stars we often see only what gives us a much easier day.
Wine with regrets, hearts and barbwire confessions, none where ever as true as you .
Bleed those thoughts once more and we will pretend together .
This waltz is as clear as a sinking ships bliss
tell them all I've long since gone insane
Give my regards to your memories for I will burn in their illusions
till our Hell is left barren, no remorse suits the ash as does this bitter pill
and a never existent flame.
To hide what is so easily viewed now the scars we bare with such glee in a perfectly twisted display.
Give me no tomorrows promise for I only yearn for today.
I'll walk towards you in stilletos
Naked as the day I was born
and fold myself across you
anticipating as the day is long
I'll bend my knees upon carpet
as decadent as your punishment
and hold my breath until blue
waiting for your commencement
Waiting for your roaming hand
to just simply stop it's caressing
anticipating that sharp sting
upon flesh so eager for addressing
Up and down the fingers splayed
beginning the real torture
wiggling brings a sharp reprise
and a whispered
what have I taught you?
There is no escape, essentially,
as you bend so enticingly
across my knee there is no escape
and crack across my buttocks
brings pleasure to both of us
and an unspoken entreaty,
hips raised in motion
More for me
This Drink is for You!
Here's to the groovers, the movers and the shakers
Here's to the players, the haters and the takers
Here's to the quiet, the shy, the romancers
Here's to the boisterous, the
energetic, the dancers
Here's to the last, the second,
Here's to the notion you can quench a thirst
Here's to the different, the unique
the one of a kind
Here's to the offensive, the defensive and
the one of same mind
Here's to you all!
Don't colour your world
This drink raised...
It's for you!
is not a disability to me
be it PTSD
or Bi Polar
or Anxiety Depression
or just riding Solo
it's not a disability to me
it may play havoc
with my everyday life but
it's not an impediment
or an indication
that you lack ability
to deal with living strife
it's not a disability to me
it's more a heightened empathy
a conscious awareness
not a disease (some cases can be)
but not a disability to me
it just means your fortitude
takes you to the next level
when the ground falls
beneath your feet
you don't lay down to grovel
you find ways to make
a near endless day
better than it was yesterday
you praise all tomorrows
because you made it today
your mental disabilty
has never been a disability
in any way