The taillights are bleeding into the midnight rain
Just another mile marker, another dose of pain
The engine's humming low, a heavy, hollow sound
Spitting gravel at the ghost of the best **** thing I found.
I got a pocket full of nothing and a heavy right foot
Leaving all that dynamic fire reduced to ash and soot
So tell me, why did I leave?
Why'd I trade your warmth for the cold up my sleeve?
Staring at the blacktop, trying to perceive
What kind of blind fool tears apart what they believe?
God help me... why did I leave?
You were standing in the doorway, shadow in the neon light.
I was chasing down a whisper in the middle of the night.
Though the highway had the answers, thought freedom was a prize.
But freedom’s just a desert when I remember your eyes
We had a dangerous rhythm, a beautiful, chaotic roar
Now I'm just a drifter knocking on an empty door.
Yeah, tell me, why did I leave?
Why'd I trade your warmth for the cold up my sleeve?
Staring at the blacktop, trying to perceive
What kind of blind fool tears apart what they believe?
God help me... why did I leave?
The whiskey don't burn like the memory of your touch
Maybe I was terrified of loving you that much.
It’s a low-down, heavy heartbreak, a self-inflicted scar
Just a man running from his own shadow in a fast-moving car.
The radio is static, the night is getting old.....
And this open road is freezing, and the steering wheel is cold
Yeah, the rubber's burning hot, but my spirit's on its knees
Echoing through the headlights, blowing through the trees...
Why did I leave?
Somebody tell me...
Why did I leave?
Michael Powers
S"STYXX ON FIRE"
7d ago
May 27, 2026 at 11:24 PM UTC
You look at the cracks in the foundation you built,
And you drown the potential in buckets of guilt.
For the times that you stumbled, the turns that you took,
Like a black ink stain on a clean, open book.
But who held the gavel, and who wrote the law,
That says you’re defined by a fracture or flaw?
Why carry the anchor, why choke on the blame,
When you survived the wild fire—so why the **** shame?
You stood in the wreckage, you swallowed the dirt,
And you traded your youth for a masterclass in hurt.
But a heart that’s been broken is still worth a ****
It’s the grit in the shadow that makes who I am.
So strip down the walls and the boxes they made,
Let the judgments they whisper just wither and fade.
There’s a fire in your chest, there’s a spark in your name,
You’re still breathing, you’re standing—so why the shame?
Michael Powers
"STYXX ON FIRE"
May 21
May 21, 2026 at 3:28 PM UTC
I’ve got rough edges and a rearview full of scars,
Spent too many midnights wishing on some broken stars.
I say the wrong thing, push too hard, and cross the line,
Stumbling through the shadows trying to find a silver sign.
But I’m still standing here, a little battered from the storm,
With a heart that’s still worth saving, and a fire keeping warm.
I am a masterpiece of flaws, a soul that’s roughly cut,
No, I’m **** sure not perfect—but I’m never giving up.
I walk every lie I have told hoping for a loved one to call me home,
Lost in the echo of the streets where I wander all alone.
I find myself in hopeless despair from a life of nothing, who cares,
Trading my youth and my truth for a pocketful of broken prayers.
When the table is turned and my breath has no final word,
And the noise of the world fades out, and the truth is finally heard....
Will you remember me?
Not sure I even would,
But I faced the dark and I stayed, right where I stood.
They try to put the pieces in a clean and polished box,
Throwing codes and warnings at a door that never locks.
But I don't betray the unwritten oath—no way, no how,
I hold the line, I keep the grit, right here and right now.
You wonder why I still care when I'm lost and never found......
When the silence is the loudest thing shaking up the ground.
Because the loyalty inside a man is something they can’t tear,
And even in the pitch black,the
"STYXX ON FIRE" is...... **** Sure There!!
Michael Powers
""STYXX ON FIRE "
May 21
May 21, 2026 at 3:25 PM UTC
A piece of cardboard in a calloused hand,
A phantom value built on shifting sand.
I brought a promise made of empty air,
And laid it down as if the wealth was there.
To offer nothing, hoping for a spark,
Is trading shadows in a heavy dark.
I walked up proud, but left the table small,
With zero gained, and nothing left to call.
Beneath the shine, the surface starts to crack,
No silver lining when you’re looking back.
Just heavy iron, cold and roughly cast,
A hidden weight that found its truth at last.
You try to pay the toll with empty air,
But hollow ledgers leave the counters bare.
The debt of truth is not a fleeting ghost,
It stays right here, where it demands the most.
When my fiction meets the floor price of your fact,
The illusion breaks across a broken tact.
You hold the silver, weighted and severe,
While I traded in a ghost that disappeared.
The lie is spent, the counterfeit is cleared,
Exposed by every detail you revered.
A heavy cost to watch the fabric tear.....
When truth buys out the vapor in the air.
A borrowed pulse, a simulated sigh,
An echo living underneath your sky.
The rhythm isn't mine to claim or keep,
I only stir because you break the sleep.
You strike the flint and give the shadow form,
It's your reflection keeping cold steel warm.
Without the fire that your truth supplies,
The breath is gone, and the illusion dies.
In the sight of your eyes, the illusions fade,
To the stark reality that we have made.
No "you," no "me," just a hollow space....
A dark crawl space with no more grace...
Michael Powers
"STYXX ON FIRE"
May 21
May 21, 2026 at 3:20 PM UTC
The anchor is dragging, the knots have untied
I’ve run out of places where secrets can hide
I spent all my currency buying you time
And treating your mountain as something to climb
But the summit is frozen, the air is too thin
And I am too tired to try and win win
I’ve mended the sails while the hurricane blew
But I cannot keep drowning to navigate you..
It isn’t out of anger, or closing a door...
There is a quiet in admitting defeat
When the rhythm of fighting just loses its beat
It isn’t out of anger, or closing a door
It’s just the soft whisper: I can’t try anymore!
The cup has run dry and the well-spring is dead
I’m packing up pieces of words that you said
[Female Vocal enters, building intensity]
I wished for a miracle, bled for a spark
But you cannot light up a soul in the dark
There is a quiet in admitting defeat
When the rhythm of fighting just loses its beat
It isn’t out of anger, or closing a door
It’s just the soft whisper: I can’t try anymore!
So here is the white flag, and here is the peace
The moment the struggle is granted release
I’m stepping away from the edge of the shore
I’ve given you all...
And I can't try anymore!
May 21
May 21, 2026 at 3:13 PM UTC
The ink is drying on the final page,
The velvet falls upon the darkened stage.
The embers whisper as the fires die,
And twilight gathers in the weary sky.
Yet deep within the hollow of the night,
A stubborn heart refuses to take flight.
There are too many words we left unsaid,
Too many winding roads we have not tread.
The melody was broken mid-refrain,
A sudden drought before the summer rain.
I stand before the closing of the door,
And fiercely, quietly, demand much more.
This cannot be the end—it is a pause,
A temporary breath, a waiting clause.
A heavy winter waiting on the spring,
A quiet bell preparing now to ring.
For time is vast and merciful and strange,
And every finish is a form of change.
So let the shadows settle if they must,
And let the silver monuments turn to dust.
Our story is not written in the sand,
But etched into the spirit, wild and grand.
The morning waits us just beyond the bend,
I promise you, this cannot be the end.
Michael Powers
"STYXX ON FIRE"
May 21
May 21, 2026 at 12:13 AM UTC