I think that I am possessed
I scroll into the past, and
I see the words that pour from my heart
The's are mine? No, they cannot be mine;
I don't even remember writing that line
I think I am possessed by a poetic spirit
Who yanks strange words from my bones
Because how could it be that I,
So simple, so fragile, so weak and slow,
Can create these literary masterpieces
That I see as I scroll
Nay, they cannot be mine
I am surely possessed by poetry.

Painting the lily black
Tainted by the mist of my heart
It cripples and dies
Surrender to hatred
Compassion I lack
An urge to tear something apart
Resting in human cries
It smothers my hatred
As a wolf running with the pack
Acceleration burns my heart
Upset by your twisted lies
They are fueling my hatred

A dark and dreary night
Even without starlight
Demons played in my head
As they awoke me from my bed
Laughing as they became reality
Created from the brink of insanity
Then the windows did rattle
I fought a losing battle
If only it could be a dream
Betrayed by my unholy scream
If only they listened in the day
But instead they locked me away



Copyright 2016

There are lots of distorted people walking all around. Words are spoken and don't mean what you think they do. There is a lot of fanfare and things don't quite make sense. Often you are not sure who you even are. One moment you feel powerful and the next you feel numb. You think you can do anything then you find out that you can do little to nothing. The best you can hope for is to enjoy watching the illusion go by, then come down easy. The harsh reality is that you are likely to end up in withdrawal, and if all you need is rehabilitation of yourself or your image, then you were lucky. More often than not you come down hard and are not sure where you will wake up or land.

I can not find Sye
Does anybody know why?
She has been on my mind
Where can I find...
         Sye.

Come home........