All I know is I don't wanna grow up
But I don't want to go back to the past
I wanna take all my favorite memories
Put them on a loop to make them last

They say I'm a bit sentimental
I think I'm probably just mental

An open mind is an open vein.

Insane thoughts convey into Cain intravenously then pour out vicariously through Ables brain like a river created from fruitful rain.
 
I don't want to be like Cain or end up like Able, to live disabled and brittle or serve a god and live as a biblical *******.

Realism on a canvas of skin and bone painted by a hand led by sin and the unknown, a brothers keeper estranged with the blood of his own

kept in a state of strife and decay with only dead crops and his thoughts, hes cursed with the lasting of life.

What is art when the heart is in a coffin while the rest is spread like minefields 6 feet above the pulse. What is the art in a dead heart with a weak pulse and which is drowning in its own blood. Life is art, art is heartbreaking. You are the art that burried my heart.

I am not a metal man
I am no metal machine
which you can turn off and on,
use for your own devices.

I am real.
I am blood and flesh,
love and sadness.
I am arteries and muscle,
thought and sound.

I am salty tears and wounds,
cut newly each day.
I am bone and brow,
sweat and smell.

I have no cold metallic heart,
that cannot feel
the love of another.
I have pain and
happiness in my chest.

I have the motion of
everything around me,
the wind against my face,
sand in between my toes.

I do not compute,
or follow a set of codes,
that limit my existence and
subject my being.

I am fear and sin,
that may live as I please.
I will not be molded and
bent with the push of a button,
or the pull of a lever by
the man above me.

I am whole and being.
Breath fills my lungs.
Food fills my stomach,
thoughts and memories
fill my head.

Lust fills my lips and *****,
sorrowful aching fills my heart.
Blood fills my veins,
marrow fills my bones.

I am no metal man.
I feel the pain of
every single being around me.
I am the pain, I cause it.
I weep and howl because of it.

Shells hit the floor as quickly as
droplets of blood fall.
As quickly as a mother falls to her knees
before the sight of her dead son.

I am the trigger finger,
that contains madness and fear.
I am a lost soul that
wanders the world.

I am contradiction;
life and death.
Everything that is the emptiness
that dwells in the chest
of every human.
I am no metal man.
I am you.

I am standing in an orchard of love
It is always springtime in here.
The air clouded with heady fragrances.
Here is our tree I told my arms
around its sturdy trunk.
The petals fall upon me like confetti.
They whisper to me softly
like we are making love.
The whispers of the blossoms
cry as they fall to the earth.
They want to stay with me
to land on my skin and caress me
like your fingertips in moonlight.
I gather handfuls of the whispers
and hold them to my heart.
The voices of their love grows louder.
Now they have reached under my skin.
And entered my heart
they feel my blood
pulsing faster and slower
reading my needs and desire.
Their voice is yours
Only yours.
And your voice is the only one
I will ever want to hear.

Oceanic wastelands and barren lagoons.
Twisted tails of eons ago.
Malformed by bitter tongues
of jealous sea creatures,
who envy the oyster.