None have too little
If bold enough to share;

With only love for oneself
You'll have none to spare.

[C, E, Am, F]
Break my heart but keep the pieces
Take the pain that I don't need
Cut myself on every sharp edge
Not enough blood in me to bleed

Tried to fit it back together
A puzzle that's just too hard for me
Love keeps leaking from the fine cracks
Guess that's why it's always empty



Brittle, breaking
Cold and always aching
Hurting, burning
Dumb but never learning

I am a fool
For loving you
Less than
I love
To hate myself

Are my skies dyed with melancholy?
Are these roses red with rage?
If fields can be greener on either side,
Then whose envy is the gauge?

Between the brightest blacks and darkest whites,
Grays a gradient of up and down,
Can I trust the amber in your eyes,
When mine are dog-**** brown?

It is the habit of the cynical
to believe themselves too smart to be optimistic;

This allows them the privilege of being unhappy,
even when they are right.

To the darkened door I step
My invitation inevitable.
I wish to arrive fashionably late
And hope to be dressed for occasion.
I do not knock from fear of entry,
But rather that you won't be there to greet me.

Hypocrisy is its own critique.

I argue with you inside my head
Angered by words you've never said.

I write our scripts to my design
Then am vexed when you botch your lines.

Fast lane or slow lane-
A life driven from the backseat
Is equally sure to crash.

Born in nineteen seventeen,
And died in sixty-seven.
His heart gave out, he became a ghost!
But did not go to heaven...

So now he haunts these hallowed grounds
From silver nights to dewy dawn.
His spectral frame glides above the grass
And drifts across the lawn.

But when morning comes and moonlight fades,
He knows it's time to leave.
To allow the other graveyard patrons
Their own time to grieve.

So he floats off to his tombstone,
Lies down in this coffin bed.
Every morning he dreams he is alive-
But each night he wakes up dead.

You either learn from your mistakes
or become better at making them.

The mark of a true fool
Is not the lack of knowledge,
But the firm belief that he has
Nothing left to learn.

It's hard not to be full of ****
When your head is up your ***.

Gangly ghouls and ghastly ghosts.

Grimy goblins, gremlins gross.

A graphic, grizzly gallery

Of grim and gruesome, giggling glee.

To perfect paradise
We are, too often, sent hellbound.

When we are fed with lies
We lose our taste for truth.
We growl and moan at our starving kin,
As we march so hungry into the grinding teeth of war.

Idiocy is not inherent;
It is, altogether more terrifyingly, habitual.

The most important quality for a politician is integrity.

The successful ones have none.

With trembling heart and flickering flame
I'm guided by worry and followed by shame.

With each creaking step, grievous mistake,
I lose a bit more of the courage I fake.

I curse my bravado for coercing me out!
As it's slowly and surely replaced by my doubt!

Shaped by shadow and forged in gloom,
A devil is born to fashion my doom!

Behind every corner, window, and wall,
The horror draws nearer with hungering call!

"Hear me Villian, make yourself known!"
Any fear I pray I've kept from my tone...

Oh what madness for the midnight mind!
To seek a beast I hope not to find!

A terror- I know it! I'm confident and sure!
The apex of fright, in essence so pure!

A lashing tongue and eyes in rows,
Razor sharp teeth to feed on my woes!

Legs much too many and mercies too few,
My advent of fate has come for its due!

I wish not to witness the monster I've made
So I blow out my candle... and welcome the shade.

Some puppeteers perform upon their own stage.
A theater made by and for themselves.
They enjoy an act of selfish design
Then bow to raucous applause
From hands pulled tight by string.

Pretending to know where I am
While deeply lost in thought.
Holding on to what I can
And missing what I could not.

Tender light of gentle star
Splendid night by lunar measure
Loathe the shining kiss of day
Where busy work takes place of leisure.

Placed on pristine pedestal.
Its posture proud,
Its presence phantasmic.
Its position?

Precarious.

These beakers are my canvas
And brewing her is my art.
To craft the deadly elixir,
That stops and starts my heart.

Two parts lovely,
Another three of yearn,
That subtle hint of sweetness
Gives it that extra burn.

Her crimsons blush and her violets spark
Then crash into her blues,
They swirl and twirl and bleed together-
A dance of violent hues.

Her colors mix into a bubbling
And her scent fills up the room.
Mesmerized... I am transfixed
By my bottled doom.

I pull out her stopper
and press her to my lips.
I drink her down, fast and slow.
Large gulps and tiny sips.

Immediately my body's seized
By her cold embrace!
Then I feel my insides boil,
Blood rushes to my face!

A foot through darkened doorstep,
My nape in devil's jaw!
She tears me from inside out
With tooth and fevered claw!

Desperately I reach for her-
Just a few drops more!
They trickle slowly down my throat
And pierce me to my core!

I need not water nor fine wine,
She is my only draught;
The taste of either, happily,
I have long ago forgot.

I will draft another batch tomorrow
Of this there is no doubt.
My love, my venom, my sweet ichor...
The poison I cannot live without.

Were I a stronger boy, I would've fought for less.
Were I a wiser fool, I would've played more chess.
Were I a richer man, I would not have such debt.
Were my life a boring one, I would not have regret.

Your most memorable words come from your mind, your heart, and your ***.

Did you revel in my exile...
Did you enjoy their praise?
Their blind belief that you would save them
At now, the end of days?

You ignore the mortals' plight
Yet still you are their king.
They love you for all they have,
But pain is all you bring.

Your sheep in shepard's clothing
Who claim they speak your words:
Lambs leading lambs to slaughter
A mass of bleating herds.

You take my wings for these wretched things
And proclaim that you're divine!?
I've come to storm your gilded gates
And claim what is truly mine!

So I have wrought a tide of brimstone,
A sea of hate and fire!
An ocean of forgotten ******
With song of sinful choir!

At the precipice of your paradise,
Meet me and despair.
War for a kingdom too large for you
And much too small to share...

[G, D, A, A]
Losers never gamble
The house, it always wins
It's easy to get to heaven
Still gotta pay to get in

On the road to the end of the line
No need to hurry, we can get there slow
The Devil tried to buy my soul
I said, "I'm sorry, sold it long ago."

Money can't buy you happiness
A lesson most can't afford to learn
Took a fire, set it to all my bridges
Sat back, relaxed and watched them burn

[Chorus]
[D, C, G, G]
All my life I've had many names
Saint's never been one
If the road to evil's been paved with good intentions
Well then, guess it's better to have none

I won't change just because I can
I want you to want me for who I am

'Cause I'm a selfish man
And I can't give a ****

So won't you lend me your heart sunshine?
You can't have mine because it's mine

[G, D, A, A]
Can you help me ma'am? I'm trying to stay lost
Got turned around but I still know my way
Like to forget that tomorrow's coming
Now I just wish it were yesterday

Don't know where the hell I'm going to
No idea where I'm supposed to be
If you're not there when I arrive
Then I guess it doesn't matter to me

Way too late to end things now
Way too soon to say goodbye
I could tell you things will last forever
You want the truth, then don't ask me to lie

I sought serenity in silence
to find an empty sound.

I looked for calm in darkness
where in light it can't be found.

I searched for peace inside myself
to win the war within.

I explored the path to journey's end
so that I could then begin.

Foul, hideous, and horrid
Unfit for natural light.
An image, none as grisly
As the man named Simon White.

Once his heart was broken
So he kept the pieces in a box.
Tethered safely to his hip
With tight chains and key-less locks.

His mind was wont to wander
To clouds too high and skies too far.
So to keep himself grounded down to earth,
He kept his brain inside a jar.

His teeth would never smile.
Traded some and sold the others
Each to an unfamiliar home
Now all without their brothers.

Oh, his tongue was such a bore!
So he minced it to a paste.
He boiled, baked, and seasoned it
Yet still it had no taste.

He grew tired of his eyes
Looking down and looking back
So he took a brush with inked tip
And painted them pitch black.

The shrieks and wails of the passerby
He could not stand to hear.
So he melted a *** of candles
And stuffed the wax in each ear.

His face had done no wrong
But with fear it one day might,
He took a knife and chopped its nose!
Less from prudence and more from spite...

Summer rains and pleasant breeze
Gracious shade from reaching trees.

Balmy days and mild nights
Charming smells and vibrant sights.

A solstice born to a lover's June
Heralds Fall that comes too soon.

I bumbled through the bramble,
****** and stings and me entwined.
They cut me deep and deeper
As I stumbled through the vine.

I fell out onto a clearing
Where I bled smally on the grass
And though this moment pains me
I pray to gods it lasts.

She sat above me,  beautiful,
Upon a throne of thorn.
Her supple frame caressed by they,
Yet remained untorn.

A lady or a fairy...
Or even better still!
A godess of those prickly vines
That wrapped around her will!

With every step the ivy squeezed
And yet I dare not care.
If she would waste but a breath on me,
I would not want for air...

Is this a question worthy of an answer?
I'm sure the sane answer is "no."

Is there poetry in farting into a milk crate?
Maybe not, but I'd very much like to think so.

Love is the only thing worth dying for
Not because you can take it with you,
but because you leave it behind.

Time well spent is good investment
Time wasted in good company
Is, thankfully, much the same.

I walk with will into umbral dark.
Fly through broken boundary of tempered veil
To unknown worlds beyond description.
I mingle with a forgiven strangeness
And become both act and audience
In theater foreign and familiar...

Then I cruelly slip from such sweetened state
And wake and live so mundanely.

If a man needs you to believe a lie,
He will often say, "trust me."

If a man needs you to believe the truth,
He will speak it.