Fence with me in the garden of Gethsemane,
under the light of a Judas moon,
blades flashing with weeping starlight,
as the sparrows sing our mournful melody.

I hear Christ praying in the olive grove,
as we dance upon this thorn strewn floor,
forgiveness, forgiveness is the prayer,
that falls on the deaf ears of the wind.

At this tragic table laden with imperial wine,
we speak under the stars of our last rites,
measuring out our coffins and our headstones,
and find ourselves at once alone with our pride.

There can only be one.

It whistles on the wind
that circles this hill
full of look a like tag a longs,
from a time before I Was.

There can only be one.

There's the grinner, the sinner,
the fighter, the writer,
the man, the monster,
and then there's me.

There can only be one.

Its a brutal war full of tears,
heads roll on the ground,
and blood mixes with the mud,
to create a marsh that drags my feet down.

There can only be one.

Slogging through the mire,
stumbling over corpses,
lashing out violently,
at that which isn't me.

There can only be one.

To the last man standing,
we fight as thunder rolls,
Over this hill of skulls,
as we **** for that law of the land.

There can only be one.

Peeling myself off the floor with shaking legs,
My head's spins and my bones feel lead heavy,
I grin through ****** teeth as the question begs,
what happens to the river when you break the levee.

****** knuckles, bent noses, and black eyes.
Dissociation hides behind a smirk and a dimple,
that practiced mask that self loathing buys,
I say I'm getting better, like its ever that simple.

You see I'm an expert at burning bridges,
a true to life true crime social arsonist,
I bathe in jet fuel to clean my stitches,
Just another on fire narcissist.

So leave my mirror be, cause its a cracked reflection,
the bad guy won my mental election,
Please don't trust his smiling inflection,
and save yourself from my infection.

I get away with it all the time.
I fight in crowded streets, in quiet stores,
I'll throw hay makers in china shops.
You bet your *** I brawl in public.

But it aint for the rush that I throw a punch,
nah baby its survival, straight darwinism.
I got enemies everywhere I turn,
and I can never keep them down.

They always got a bone to pick.
some got grudges, some just think Im a *****.
tomato tamato, I take em out they come back,
and start another brawl in public.

So if you see me sitting in an empty seat,
muttering and writing feverishly in the street,
stay out of the kitchen cause you can't stand the heat,
and leave me be while I brawl in public.

Staying up despite the pounding headache,
as my ghost grins at me from the mirror,
The same lines circling my brain like a snake,
wishing for miracles because I can't face my fears.

I know I hate myself but at this point I'm numb,
to my ghost padding along in my shadow,
just like I can't feel the thud as I hit the canvas,
or the cold of another night surrounded and alone.

I hate my voice that's so full of cliches,
but I'm a fraud poet so they're all I have,
I keep saying the same things over and over,
and expecting my ghost to listen this time.

Its 3 AM and I'm still lost in a deadlock of my dreams,
the Goals and the nightmares mixing to make a pale fear
of the dark that settles over my head and keeps me awake.

The smirk painted on my face is washed out if you look closely
you can see the cracks starting to form on my soul as I
struggle to reconcile who I was with who I am.

This inst a poem but I don't need rhythm right now just an outlet
because I'm so tired my filter is gone and so is my cutthroat mind
so all I can think is what the **** have I done.

Running is essential to being a fighter.
You will never be able to stand your ground,
if you don't spend hours running as fast as you can.
Ironic isn't it.

Every day. Early in the morning when everyone is asleep.
Wake up. get dressed. 3 miles, 21 minutes or less.
It's raining? *****. Its sleeting? Get over it. You're exhausted? too **** bad.

Its those moments when you don't want to run.
The times when you want to say **** it,
that's where you learn to stand your ground.
Ironic that it takes more ******* running to get there.