It’s hard to write when you’re bulk dumping everything in your brain
I want so badly to pour my emotions into this little place and leave them all behind
But my brain won’t let me
Instead, my thoughts beat down, so dense I can almost reach out and grab them
I keep getting these questions in my head that I know the answer to
And they all start with “Why?”
Why can’t I have my control?

I want it back.

I am not only some peaceful stream of the forest,
Twinkling beneath songbirds,
Watering romancing deer.

I am also the river that cuts through the mountain,
That carves the earth to better fit my ease.

The one bears dare not cross.
The cascading ire,
Raptors are unfit to tame,
With any bellow.

Men will come to know the rocky bottom,
And winding parts,
Men will come to know their helmets and life preservers,
Won't be salvation,
When I say that they shall drown.

Most Christians don’t like Slayer
They say it isn’t Christian music
They say it’s irredeemably flawed
Because it goes against God
But I believe all music can be seen as religious music
God created those artists and their environment
And their art is a way of expressing the result of that
By sharing what’s on their mind
For religious people to change those minds
They must understand those minds
And find appreciation for the secular culture
To ask one side to change significantly
And not change yourself at all
Doesn’t seem symbiotic
Yet the religious stay purposefully oblivious
In order to not have their faith challenged
Because they think without it they’d be hideous
Caught in predatory atheist talons
So they sing their own hymns
And follow their own whims
And wonder why people can’t relate to their culture
Because they seem like disconnected vultures
Preying on the weak
And those in defeat
For a money deplete
To those on the other side
It’s the evil elite
Sending the other for a ride
The two never meet
And just believe all the lies

Somewhere In the black and freezing ocean of mid winter lies her body,
resting in a permanent slumber and dressed in a gown of soft silk and ivory. Casting hurricanes and arctic rains at the tips of her pale, thin, fingers, making sure that the rage built up from years of pain never ceases to linger.

Years before, she cast herself off of the cliffs of agony and fell into the sea,
and compared to the demons that haunted her in life, in the water she would rather be. She left a note to the burdens she deserted, and it mockingly read, "I leave this hell behind me, with you in my life, I'm better off dead."