I am the revolution
The nations main spark lit
Right to retribution
But we're retrograde fought fit
Hot spit
The only reason to survive
To lyrically call upon you
So our country can thrive
In your eyes we're alive
In my eyes we've already died
So we'll argue and argue until the point arrives

-Apostle Jones

Hello.
I see you you got off, scott free.
You disrespectful swine.
You hateful trash.
You living filth.

Letting me swell with anger.
A violent flower, blooming with a blood dye.
You wouldn't be able to tell.
I have quite the poker face.
I'm so close to bursting.
You can watch if you'd like.
Watch my insides deteriorate.
Watch my lifeless arms come alive.
Only to grasp your washed out neck.

And to those who run the school.
Who let hate crimes happen.
Who think a slap on the wrist is acceptable.
You are to blame as well.

My love would rather side with those who hurt me.
She'd rather just let me burst.
She's not here to comfort me.
Only to respark my firestorm.

I'm so close

I could write about a romance that won't happen. I could write about a romance that has happened. But I won't write about a romance that will happen.

"I don't know how I loved without you"
Her lips tickled my ear.
I could feel her breath reflect her sincerity
"I do, and it wasn't pretty"
I could feel her tense up, reliving every moment before me.
I wrapped my arms around reminding her where she was

You and me.
Alone for once.
Not physically, but emotionally *******.
I see your bare soul.
Left alone.
Killing our monotony.
Rebirth.

Why don't you call me anymore?
I miss the tone of your voice.
Your slight lisp.
The way you stumble over my name.
Your flawed perception of life.
The vacancy of emotion when you lied.

Eighteen Years, mixed, broken, and lost in the delicacies of life. Lust, love, and dreams more take control.

How to
How to
How to
But we never ask why to
Who to
And
Where to.
So we learn our how's and forget our why, who, and where. Then as we continue to learn this how and that how we start to realize where our where's went. Who is who? Until we're sitting here pleading to know why we've lost our whys.
Then the single most important thing that is above our how, why, who, and where's.
What.
And that is the meaning of life.

You'll look at me now. Call me "Gay" or "***". That's alright. Whatever makes you happy. Revenge is something that grows though. With my age I'll prosper. I'll get larger. My arms will drip with ink. My mind as sharp as ever. My face and jaw defined.

Yet you won't.

You'll sink into regrets. You won't find love,  you'll settle for cheap women. Your addictions will grow. You'll sink into a depression that I once knew.

So please, be my guest. Insult me until your heart (or lack thereof) is content.

She woke up


Her heart is torn


Her eyes are sore


Her lips are swollen shut





She's back down


Her dreams are farther still


Her mind is filled


With images of flashy cars





[Little sleeping girl


Go back to bed


Little sleeping girl


Get out of his head]





She fell out.


Her arms all shake


Her heart does quake


Her head crashing down





She stands up


Her bed is a mess


Her body is undressed


And nobody is coming for her





[Little sleeping girl


Go back to bed


Little sleeping girl


Get out of his head]





She let out a tear

Her calloused hands

Her feet in quick sand

Her heart picking up her pace



She crawls back to bed

Her mind grows numb

Her lips and her thumbs

Now have no way of feeling pain



[Little sleeping girl


Go back to bed


Little sleeping girl


Get out of his head]

Cigarette butts dangling from cracked lips.
*** appeals finest hour.
Taking its time from acting in the day.
Lust filled nights.
Life written like a cabaret.
Meant to appeal to the senses.
When the senses are all dead and gone.  
Washed away into an abysmal sea.
Thoughts aren't created to be traced.
Merely here for listening.
Thank You for Listening.