I should have had a little more grit,
Should have put a gun up to my head and quit,
Should have given the devil’s words some more weight,
Should have would have could have but it's too late
                                                            ­                            
Would have stopped it all if I wasn’t so blind,
Would have traded my soul contract sealed and signed,
Would have done anything to wipe this slate
Should have Would have Could have but it’s too late
                                                            ­                              
Could have killed myself, it would’ve only been fair
Could have ran away alone, a monster in its lair
Could have if I wasn’t too scared to choose my fate
SHOULD HAVE WOULD HAVE COULD HAVE BUT IT’S TOO LATE.

Straight off the presses of my warped mind
Comes another ******* broken record scream
Broken bottles and used needles crash in the current
Of my polluted ***** consciousness stream

Cambion Nephilim Paradise Lost
Under the heavy heel of the undertow
I Weep and see how awful goodness is
I'm in Charon’s boat as I Row Row Row

Slithering crocodiles wait to eat the refuse
As I drift down the river with no direction
While Gondoliers whistle in Venetian Canon
Sinking like a cannon to my ****** up reflection

That's all I am in the end a collection of thoughts
Written by better men and formed by worse times
Just another repeating record trying to scream
And thinking it will sound less desperate if I make it rhyme.

Self destruction is a prerequisite to be a fighter,
we play ****** knuckles with ourselves till we're nearly dead,
just to prove that we are unbreakable, invulnerable,
and yet we still end up staining everything red.

We're all scars and trophies, made of contradictions
disciplined yet still all ruled by addiction
we can win any fight but can't beat this affliction
that we bought with our souls and conviction,

And then one day father time refuses to wait,
your knuckles scar over and your nose heals straight,
and when you die all you'll be able to show at heaven's gate,
is these scars, empty trophies, and the beautiful violence you used to create.

God I'm so tired I just want to rest
but there's this dull pounding pain in my chest
ramming against my ribs when I try to lie down
and that's when I realize I'm still underwater, about to drown.

So I swim to the surface and try to stay strong
but I can't keep my head above water long
because the waves keep pushing me back under
like they follow the drumbeat of the crashing thunder.

my vision goes dark and my limbs get heavy as I gasp for air
but of course, just like everything, there's nothing there.
So I dive down to find the anchor around my ankle,
lean against it, close my eyes, and fall asleep.

Dark times and bleak signs circle in my head
As the devil whispers in my ear while I lie in bed
Coming like the raven at the final bell
To carry my unworthy soul down to cold cold hell

The dead prophets of false messiahs
Whisper eldritch mantras peddling the souls of pariahs
And begging me for my own life
As the new moon glints with impossible light on the edge of the knife

All these decaying archaic arcane ramblings bouncing in my skull
Slicing through my grey matter like knives and leaving me dull,
I come face to face with the dead prophets and the devil they serve,
And then I wake up and hide from my mirror.

I've relearned a lot of life lessons because of you, things I had let myself forget.
Never get invested in someone who demands that you be 'low maintenance' if you are going to stay in their lives. Don't fall for bedroom talk, it means nothing. Anyone who calls themselves selfish is likely telling the truth, especially if they know what they're asking will hurt you but they continually ask anyway. Cowards confuse anger with bravery, but you shouldn't. People who are incapable of looking past imperfections will not only be miserable, they will make anyone who tries to love them miserable as well. Working on flaws is important, but so is recognizing that any kind of relationship, platonic or otherwise, is based on a commitment to work past flaws that cannot be worked out because the whole of the person is worth that small sacrifice.

Under threat of death I bob and weave,
desperately dodging these juggernaut blows,
thrown by ghosts and devils I can't see,
and it's only a matter of time until I get caught.

But still, this one step from death adrenaline,
is the only time I can be sure I have  heart,
its the only thing I'm still in love with,
how could I ever leave that behind.

Late night headaches and trouble breathing,
limping up the stairs and wincing through hugs from my mother,
and yet all I can think of even with all that I've lost,
is that intangible thing I only have when I'm barely alive.

I've sold my soul for a one in a million gamble,
I've bargained my sanity for sweat and belief.
A belief that for once in my ******* life,
I can stay alive by moving forward instead of running away.