spider-murphy - Hello Poetry

Can we truly erase the mistakes a pack of lies we built this wall now its simply stands upon shifting sands and a awkward silence. Another cruel ***** another lost ***** consumed by ego. Did the fire simply smolder or did we do all to destroy it ourselves my dear? Painted pictures are simply things to collect dust like worn romance novels and assorted fairytales lets fix together least maybe we can drown in this misery together aside from others bullshit. In strangers touch and a soul to lost for you to care . the pawn no place held for the queen how I remember you in tatters long before this scene. Lets drop the act simply to see it die. Burn it down to the rafters and enjoy the bliss of chaos so perfectly divine. I no longer care and you just no longer mask your lies as well as before. Two doses of poison never meant to mix . Seems were the perfect storm it was a beautiful summer in hell. A edge to sharp to stand so we simply fell for lack of nothing better to do. The illusion has long passed . And now only are scars remain.

0

Aug 24, 2015

Aug 24, 2015 at 10:49 PM UTC

spider-murphy

To This Point We Break

Can we truly erase the mistakes a pack of lies we built this wall now its simply stands upon shifting sands and a awkward silence. Another cruel ***** another lost ***** consumed by ego. Did the fire simply smolder or did we do all to destroy it ourselves my dear? Painted pictures are simply things to collect dust like worn romance novels and assorted fairytales lets fix together least maybe we can drown in this misery together aside from others bullshit. In strangers touch and a soul to lost for you to care . the pawn no place held for the queen how I remember you in tatters long before this scene. Lets drop the act simply to see it die. Burn it down to the rafters and enjoy the bliss of chaos so perfectly divine. I no longer care and you just no longer mask your lies as well as before. Two doses of poison never meant to mix . Seems were the perfect storm it was a beautiful summer in hell. A edge to sharp to stand so we simply fell for lack of nothing better to do. The illusion has long passed . And now only are scars remain.

14

I sit in darkness, soaked in Gin, I remember everything, except all the things Tequila forgot, I remember nothing except for the things left to rot I forgot the darkest nights most certainly in days light I forgot you placed the drink in my hand, is that how we ended up here last night? A half empty glass we have mired our delusion dear Do the stories just get better or do we simply fill in the blanks? Trace our old lines again and again. Weathered are my eyes behind a mask It’s no place to breath but anything beats the grave. As we recall the sunset from the shore it seems so far now it is but a fraction of the truest sense and the most cursed fools delusion a switchblades sting and you will remain my favorite scar? Delusions are illusions with which we fool ourselves with a magician’s eye and a sense of skill. Sunsets upon a distant shore are our memories retreating against our will.The switchblades knife is rusty and it's only hope is to scar. Do you revere or revile me? The empty bottles that lay between us ask for little. I ask us for more! Will I be your scar, the one you rub when you’re alone? Tracing lines that cut so deep but set rigid, like stone? Perhaps the open wound you created when you picked apart our past won't heal as quickly, and like the final drink we had together won't be our last. Painted is the portrait so far from the truths we all choose to ignore and now I simply understand are regrets than the echoes of a shared view. When we break the heart do we find solace in a statue like existence? We all spill the glass sometimes and a candles view dim will only reflect the shadows we've become. Tomorrows a dream and the nightmares become a friend far more than this dance I care no longer to stand and the ice won’t bare the weight of this ego's crash. Let's skate the ice so thin it cracks beneath the weigh of pain. Let's dance the tango of wilted dreams and find no shame. Let the broken heart of shattered glass be a reminder of our pain but you and I, we share a common lust we mix silently, oil and water blending in the same frame For from the page to the far corners of this empty floor we have made our choices Now we understand past regrets in silent reframe Never doubt the passion for the lack of fire it simmers a volcano underneath the illusion of emptiness and so we find are paths twisted yet always brought back to the same point. We always speak in shadows what is known in light of day. Our paths are gritty dirt, pretty split and intertwined broken cobblestoned nights and sun baked days to which we can’t deny Shadows that come to play hide the demons we would once talk to, but threw away when we attempted to revive a life we weren't meant for Our answers don't lay at the bottom of the bottle nor do they rest behind the closed door, They itch beneath our fractured skin and spill their secrets on the floor dripping from serrated cuts that pump a life full of ****** memories the broken bottle stands as sentinel asking always for One More... Please? Maybe we found our muse in a mutual insanity. Laid bare the vein I question what lingers when nothing remains beneath? This last round stands only for the night my dear for its clutches are but a moments embrace and an overcast view. Tomorrow I can never promise what fate hands us by surprise. Insanity is a fickle Muse that's sips from a collapsed vein breaking bottles against skulls looking for an idiot to blame Personally I think our Muse is a Mistress that flogs well in the dark Chaining our souls to our demons never shining light on our demise, Demanding we whip ourselves hoarse prying opens the oysters of our murky world spilling pearls of stone into a world so stark No, the Muse of you and I is an unruly ***** She chokes our memories and forces our pain with a flick of her wrist

0

spider-murphy

Mar 10, 2015

Mar 10, 2015 at 1:40 AM UTC

john-patrick-robbins-aka-gonzo

Thoughts In A Minor Key (Co-Write With Helen)

I sit in darkness, soaked in Gin, I remember everything, except all the things Tequila forgot, I remember nothing except for the things left to rot I forgot the darkest nights most certainly in days light I forgot you placed the drink in my hand, is that how we ended up here last night? A half empty glass we have mired our delusion dear Do the stories just get better or do we simply fill in the blanks? Trace our old lines again and again. Weathered are my eyes behind a mask It’s no place to breath but anything beats the grave. As we recall the sunset from the shore it seems so far now it is but a fraction of the truest sense and the most cursed fools delusion a switchblades sting and you will remain my favorite scar? Delusions are illusions with which we fool ourselves with a magician’s eye and a sense of skill. Sunsets upon a distant shore are our memories retreating against our will.The switchblades knife is rusty and it's only hope is to scar. Do you revere or revile me? The empty bottles that lay between us ask for little. I ask us for more! Will I be your scar, the one you rub when you’re alone? Tracing lines that cut so deep but set rigid, like stone? Perhaps the open wound you created when you picked apart our past won't heal as quickly, and like the final drink we had together won't be our last. Painted is the portrait so far from the truths we all choose to ignore and now I simply understand are regrets than the echoes of a shared view. When we break the heart do we find solace in a statue like existence? We all spill the glass sometimes and a candles view dim will only reflect the shadows we've become. Tomorrows a dream and the nightmares become a friend far more than this dance I care no longer to stand and the ice won’t bare the weight of this ego's crash. Let's skate the ice so thin it cracks beneath the weigh of pain. Let's dance the tango of wilted dreams and find no shame. Let the broken heart of shattered glass be a reminder of our pain but you and I, we share a common lust we mix silently, oil and water blending in the same frame For from the page to the far corners of this empty floor we have made our choices Now we understand past regrets in silent reframe Never doubt the passion for the lack of fire it simmers a volcano underneath the illusion of emptiness and so we find are paths twisted yet always brought back to the same point. We always speak in shadows what is known in light of day. Our paths are gritty dirt, pretty split and intertwined broken cobblestoned nights and sun baked days to which we can’t deny Shadows that come to play hide the demons we would once talk to, but threw away when we attempted to revive a life we weren't meant for Our answers don't lay at the bottom of the bottle nor do they rest behind the closed door, They itch beneath our fractured skin and spill their secrets on the floor dripping from serrated cuts that pump a life full of ****** memories the broken bottle stands as sentinel asking always for One More... Please? Maybe we found our muse in a mutual insanity. Laid bare the vein I question what lingers when nothing remains beneath? This last round stands only for the night my dear for its clutches are but a moments embrace and an overcast view. Tomorrow I can never promise what fate hands us by surprise. Insanity is a fickle Muse that's sips from a collapsed vein breaking bottles against skulls looking for an idiot to blame Personally I think our Muse is a Mistress that flogs well in the dark Chaining our souls to our demons never shining light on our demise, Demanding we whip ourselves hoarse prying opens the oysters of our murky world spilling pearls of stone into a world so stark No, the Muse of you and I is an unruly ***** She chokes our memories and forces our pain with a flick of her wrist

74

I sit in darkness, soaked in Gin, I remember everything, except all the things Tequila forgot, I remember nothing except for the things left to rot I forgot the darkest nights most certainly in days light I forgot you placed the drink in my hand, is that how we ended up here last night? A half empty glass we have mired our delusion dear Do the stories just get better or do we simply fill in the blanks? Trace our old lines again and again. Weathered are my eyes behind a mask It’s no place to breath but anything beats the grave. As we recall the sunset from the shore it seems so far now it is but a fraction of the truest sense and the most cursed fools delusion a switchblades sting and you will remain my favorite scar? Delusions are illusions with which we fool ourselves with a magician’s eye and a sense of skill. Sunsets upon a distant shore are our memories retreating against our will. The switchblades knife is rusty and it's only hope is to scar. Do you revere or revile me? The empty bottles that lay between us ask for little. I ask us for more! Will I be your scar, the one you rub when you’re alone? Tracing lines that cut so deep but set rigid, like stone? Perhaps the open wound you created when you picked apart our past won't heal as quickly, and like the final drink we had together won't be our last. Painted is the portrait so far from the truths we all choose to ignore and now I simply understand are regrets than the echoes of a shared view. When we break the heart do we find solace in a statue like existence? We all spill the glass sometimes and a candles view dim will only reflect the shadows we've become. Tomorrows a dream and the nightmares become a friend far more than this dance I care no longer to stand and the ice won’t bare the weight of this ego's crash. Let's skate the ice so thin it cracks beneath the weigh of pain. Let's dance the tango of wilted dreams and find no shame. Let the broken heart of shattered glass be a reminder of our pain but you and I, we share a common lust we mix silently, oil and water blending in the same frame For from the page to the far corners of this empty floor we have made our choices Now we understand past regrets in silent reframe Never doubt the passion for the lack of fire it simmers a volcano underneath the illusion of emptiness and so we find are paths twisted yet always brought back to the same point. We always speak in shadows what is known in light of day. Our paths are gritty dirt, pretty split and intertwined broken cobblestoned nights and sun baked days to which we can’t deny Shadows that come to play hide the demons we would once talk to, but threw away when we attempted to revive a life we weren't meant for Our answers don't lay at the bottom of the bottle nor do they rest behind the closed door, They itch beneath our fractured skin and spill their secrets on the floor dripping from serrated cuts that pump a life full of ****** memories the broken bottle stands as sentinel asking always for One More... Please? Maybe we found our muse in a mutual insanity. Laid bare the vein I question what lingers when nothing remains beneath? This last round stands only for the night my dear for its clutches are but a moments embrace and an overcast view. Tomorrow I can never promise what fate hands us by surprise. Insanity is a fickle Muse that's sips from a collapsed vein breaking bottles against skulls looking for an idiot to blame Personally I think our Muse is a Mistress that flogs well in the dark Chaining our souls to our demons never shining light on our demise, Demanding we whip ourselves hoarse prying opens the oysters of our murky world spilling pearls of stone into a world so stark No, the Muse of you and I is an unruly ***** She chokes our memories and forces our pain with a flick of her wrist

0

spider-murphy

Mar 10, 2015

Mar 10, 2015 at 1:39 AM UTC

helen

Thoughts in a Minor Key (co write with John Patrick Robbins aka Gonzo)

I sit in darkness, soaked in Gin, I remember everything, except all the things Tequila forgot, I remember nothing except for the things left to rot I forgot the darkest nights most certainly in days light I forgot you placed the drink in my hand, is that how we ended up here last night? A half empty glass we have mired our delusion dear Do the stories just get better or do we simply fill in the blanks? Trace our old lines again and again. Weathered are my eyes behind a mask It’s no place to breath but anything beats the grave. As we recall the sunset from the shore it seems so far now it is but a fraction of the truest sense and the most cursed fools delusion a switchblades sting and you will remain my favorite scar? Delusions are illusions with which we fool ourselves with a magician’s eye and a sense of skill. Sunsets upon a distant shore are our memories retreating against our will. The switchblades knife is rusty and it's only hope is to scar. Do you revere or revile me? The empty bottles that lay between us ask for little. I ask us for more! Will I be your scar, the one you rub when you’re alone? Tracing lines that cut so deep but set rigid, like stone? Perhaps the open wound you created when you picked apart our past won't heal as quickly, and like the final drink we had together won't be our last. Painted is the portrait so far from the truths we all choose to ignore and now I simply understand are regrets than the echoes of a shared view. When we break the heart do we find solace in a statue like existence? We all spill the glass sometimes and a candles view dim will only reflect the shadows we've become. Tomorrows a dream and the nightmares become a friend far more than this dance I care no longer to stand and the ice won’t bare the weight of this ego's crash. Let's skate the ice so thin it cracks beneath the weigh of pain. Let's dance the tango of wilted dreams and find no shame. Let the broken heart of shattered glass be a reminder of our pain but you and I, we share a common lust we mix silently, oil and water blending in the same frame For from the page to the far corners of this empty floor we have made our choices Now we understand past regrets in silent reframe Never doubt the passion for the lack of fire it simmers a volcano underneath the illusion of emptiness and so we find are paths twisted yet always brought back to the same point. We always speak in shadows what is known in light of day. Our paths are gritty dirt, pretty split and intertwined broken cobblestoned nights and sun baked days to which we can’t deny Shadows that come to play hide the demons we would once talk to, but threw away when we attempted to revive a life we weren't meant for Our answers don't lay at the bottom of the bottle nor do they rest behind the closed door, They itch beneath our fractured skin and spill their secrets on the floor dripping from serrated cuts that pump a life full of ****** memories the broken bottle stands as sentinel asking always for One More... Please? Maybe we found our muse in a mutual insanity. Laid bare the vein I question what lingers when nothing remains beneath? This last round stands only for the night my dear for its clutches are but a moments embrace and an overcast view. Tomorrow I can never promise what fate hands us by surprise. Insanity is a fickle Muse that's sips from a collapsed vein breaking bottles against skulls looking for an idiot to blame Personally I think our Muse is a Mistress that flogs well in the dark Chaining our souls to our demons never shining light on our demise, Demanding we whip ourselves hoarse prying opens the oysters of our murky world spilling pearls of stone into a world so stark No, the Muse of you and I is an unruly ***** She chokes our memories and forces our pain with a flick of her wrist

75

I had the chance to have a conversation with a madman . But I never was a fan of talking to myself besides I had nothing new to say. We often find ourselves trapped lost in worry over what others may think. I truly never gave a **** . Call it ego call it whatever you care to because I wont be listening to begin with. The only critic that matters is the one that stares back at you in the mirror.

0

Jan 29, 2015

Jan 29, 2015 at 7:52 AM UTC

spider-murphy

Another Thought And A Diffrent Phase

I had the chance to have a conversation with a madman . But I never was a fan of talking to myself besides I had nothing new to say. We often find ourselves trapped lost in worry over what others may think. I truly never gave a **** . Call it ego call it whatever you care to because I wont be listening to begin with. The only critic that matters is the one that stares back at you in the mirror.

6

Empty rooms a glance into are futures lost conviction sweetest angel of the truest flaw may I glimpse the depth none other ever did care to see? In shared vice words hollow held you as the scars we bare forgotten to only us none should ever have to view . Where did the glow fade to corners of such darkness we simply died as the old to become jaded as we stand shattered the shards but fragments of the past I no longer care to reflect. Lust of the moment a need and service nothing more. We can give all to only share with so few and in those moments perfection is the truth as ****** up as we are . Lines I give the flesh you lend cold as the winters imprint over the mountains peak . Escape the moments only to relive the misery's with every emotional fix. You cant go through hell not to show some scars will you embrace mine as I have yours my dear? We together hold more stories than a asylums wall. Yet still we stand only to part. There's no escape from the memories even down the snake of the highway to the western sunsets reprise. Guess we just have the now so **** the past it just get in the way. We run a train so happily heading off the rails in shared addiction my dear how I thrive in the destruction my friends I shine no matter the name it's always me. Her love was like the purest ****** deadly but so ******* alluring and uncut in it's seduction why run when we can walk into a self destructive mess together? Miles pass we can't deny it's a habit like any other late night calls and midnight meetings this stays between us right? We know the outcome yet like fools before we tread on ground and lies created by broken souls and now scorched earth. So ******* right in the feeling in the wrong sense . Claw marks don't leave a bruise but make me feel alive unlike him she speaks within confines of he darkened cab. And in hell do we find the sanctuary none others can provide . Were all wrong just together within a storm shelter can provide comfort even in the pure ******** of false truths and empty lies . And the broken hearts bleed all the same .

0

Jul 31, 2014

Jul 31, 2014 at 6:57 PM UTC

spider-murphy

To The Many And The Few We New None So Well

Empty rooms a glance into are futures lost conviction sweetest angel of the truest flaw may I glimpse the depth none other ever did care to see? In shared vice words hollow held you as the scars we bare forgotten to only us none should ever have to view . Where did the glow fade to corners of such darkness we simply died as the old to become jaded as we stand shattered the shards but fragments of the past I no longer care to reflect. Lust of the moment a need and service nothing more. We can give all to only share with so few and in those moments perfection is the truth as ****** up as we are . Lines I give the flesh you lend cold as the winters imprint over the mountains peak . Escape the moments only to relive the misery's with every emotional fix. You cant go through hell not to show some scars will you embrace mine as I have yours my dear? We together hold more stories than a asylums wall. Yet still we stand only to part. There's no escape from the memories even down the snake of the highway to the western sunsets reprise. Guess we just have the now so **** the past it just get in the way. We run a train so happily heading off the rails in shared addiction my dear how I thrive in the destruction my friends I shine no matter the name it's always me. Her love was like the purest ****** deadly but so ******* alluring and uncut in it's seduction why run when we can walk into a self destructive mess together? Miles pass we can't deny it's a habit like any other late night calls and midnight meetings this stays between us right? We know the outcome yet like fools before we tread on ground and lies created by broken souls and now scorched earth. So ******* right in the feeling in the wrong sense . Claw marks don't leave a bruise but make me feel alive unlike him she speaks within confines of he darkened cab. And in hell do we find the sanctuary none others can provide . Were all wrong just together within a storm shelter can provide comfort even in the pure ******** of false truths and empty lies . And the broken hearts bleed all the same .

21