Power deceives,
And ill minds contrive.
Follow as you are lead,
Be happy to be alive!
Pay no attention to foul deeds,
Schemed and completed behind closed doors.
There lay flowers and candy for those,
Who forget wrongdoings forevermore.
Beware of hungry beasts,
That knaw on your tender mind.
To those who create of their own free will,
You are likely the last of your kind.
This angry world has no room for lovers,
For those who cherish and support.
All too often, it seems like fear,
Is the last, and most effective, resort.
False lives are drawn up,
And strung upon coathooks.
Observe beyond and you will see,
These lives were derived from cookbooks.
Cookie cutter lives.

I am unable to cry
All of my rivers have run dry
The infinite emptiness inside
Why can’t I cry

I dearly wish for that savory release
Falling as autumn leaves
Falling down upon my knees
How I beg for savory release

I cannot help but let my chin down
My arms hang so low my knuckles scrape the ground
An incalculable loss, never to be found
When things are looking up my chin stays down

I shall feel happiness nevermore
My vision remains clouded by closèd doors
Longing for the sweet youth of yore
I shan’t feel happiness anymore

Hm.
A thought.
Something resting upon the brink of something bigger,
That melts away into oblivion.

In some twisted way,
I almost feel happy.
My body is tense,
My breathing rapid,
My mind skirts the edges of insanity.
My conscience hangs by a mere thread,
Dangling precariously over the edge.
In some twisted way,
I almost feel whole.
The dark that rapes me holds me steady,
It fills in the spaces otherwise unoccupied.
There are unexplored oceans,
Haunted by ghostly ships,
Rising high on the crest of the evening tide.
A beautiful, terrifying event to witness.
In some twisted way,
I see black as a colour.
The speck that grows in a distant corner,
Nearing its full force,
Is elegant.
Ever so gently, it drains my free will.
It absorbs my ambition, my desire to accomplish,
The very air in my lungs is anything but my own.
I am the black, just as the black is me.
In some twisted way,
I feel powerful.
The disdain I feel for myself,
Cannot be outweighed.
It moves, breathes death,
And with a mind of its own it consumes me.
Until, I have been overcome,
And the grass is grey,
Birds shriek in terror,
Waves crash violently against jagged stone,
Laughter turns to mockery,
Food is poison,
Sleep is a crypt,
Life is a tomb.