You are Tender,
I am Tasteless.
You lavishly enjoy your prime,
Wasted on your future's time.
I do naught but watch,
as life becomes present, then past,
Till hell forcibly closes the tab.

How can we rot and grow in conjunction?
Neither yes nor no
brings us out of the middle,
And Bright Grey cannot paint over our darkened monochrome.

I felt it again,
Scorch of motivation,
Flooding acknowledgement,

Don't ever kiss and tell,
But we can **** and write,
Falling apart as quickly
as the fueled string ignites.

Watchtower Guards-men
Bellow to the waves,
Beneath the catastrophe-struck skies,
Lay the coffin
We've ceased to maintain.
And history shall pen in the books,
"Again."

You are more of a burning thought than a question
Piercing the clouds with breaths of impossibility,
For such a thing was never meant to be.
So long to this forlorn farewell,
A cautious paw to an unyielding Man.
Perfection is always incomplete,
And it is through that lens,
That I know you see me.

Here we stand,
Screaming, quiet, then alone.
Deal, squash, don't cry,
And for every drop of blood drawn,
Peace slowly fills the body.

I've been waiting,
Aching, longing,
To watch the future end...
God if I don't know it's a sin,
Yet eternal sleep is such an easy win.

Cowardice grows fat with will,
Fear adorning shrunken lips with slitted glee,
Swallowing up what's left of me.
Still, something always lingers,
Tethering suffering to lifelines,
That's what keeps me awake.

Procrastination is a scary thing,
And I wish I could focus,
As I feel the last hours slipping away.

I'm writing the same mindless drivel,
How many times will I make the same point in different ways?
Yet its neither coherent or comprehensible,
Until I slap it together, watching it's brittle bones shake,

Am I even making a point?
I know what I'm writing,
But obviously, I don't-
Will they understand it as it grows?
Just a little push,
I'll be right as rain,
And 300 ideas will rush out of my brain -

So let me focus
Instead of down,
And watch as I finish ahead of the race.

Occasionally,
The brain sinks into a state of undead,
As if even in the afterlife I'm cursed to think.
What a relief it would be,
If all the passing time that tortures me,
Is nothing but eternal day in a sluggish, everlasting rest.

Even the memories,
A past I long to stay in,
Yet one I could not wait to leave,
Are only color-stained within photography.
Who is sheparding my thoughts?
Are you asleep on the job?
They're on a rampaging stampede,
Mindlessly trampling me underneath.
****** hoofprints drag bits of scattered matter into dusty wasteland,
Barren, dry, and with no end in sight.

Tapping those frozen, innocent smiles,
Adorning every "########" you've captured,
As if it could transmit back into me,
That youthful vitality.
Bitter tears and sour defeats,
For the worse, have changed me.
Without a place to stand,
How can I ever steady my feet?

Mangled soul who salivates at my misery,
Devour me whole,
Swallow up the mortal and the Soul.
No matter how vile the blood or rotten the flesh,
Savor the terror that slips down your throat,
And cherish the ecstasy of my fervent last breath.