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Hard shell, platinum steel, graze the feel.
When the sharpest edges cut
hands flow with rusted blood.

Heads keep banging as the guitar strings pull
heavy and full.
Moraca like pockets of coin, join
Body parts mold, then brush the floor

Are you breaking my will,
Iron Hammer?
Metal banter?
Are you welding my hand to yours?

Keep your tempered glass,
you splintered wood.
By and by
keep renting your goods.

The studs and the black
can't cover you.
Brass knuckles break concrete
on Fool Street
the metal, the metal
the sound!
Metal was the subject matter
A box of rusted feelings hides in the salvaged yard of my mind.
Jagged sorrows and broken promises surround the dismembered machinery,
forgotten and guarded.

The old dog with his once beastly growl, no longer cares who leaves or stays.
The dirt below, slowly pulling
forming his final resting place.

Shabby parts like tired looks rot under thunderstorms of powering weather.
Torn threads like once relationships, patched and torn asunder
The Stacks pile high, a top the years of mistakes
The box slowly sinks
heaving more and more heartbreaks
A metaphor for the pain we pile up
There are tunnels to places with holes in the world
The bottom is endless where darkness endures
I can hear from the top, a voice pulling me down
the twinkle captures my thoughts in a rhythm of sounds

I've walked passed the rabbit hole too many times
choosing to remain unscathed by it's crimes
And every day, I wander back to its door
enraptured with the calling and dark of it's world

I reach down with hands, both clean and warm
to feel the dirt and cold pour out of her core
I know that I shouldn't, I know that I might
take a trip down the hole, and be back before night

Each morning I linger at the base of the hole
Lulled by the melody, seeping below
Time crashed to a halt, standing perfectly still
My head is a maze, completely robbed of my will

Obsession grows, taking root in the mind
dragging me down, one day at a time
As I sit by the hole, contemplating my dive
I slowly spiral down without ever knowing why

There are tunnels to places with holes in the world
There are those that will dive and those that will swirl
There are those that will fall, without knowing they have
Fatality drowning in darkness, stuck in a trap
Obsession is a temptress
For in her eyes
lie solemn cries
Irises of icey blue

With in her mind
You will find
Voices playing tunes

First, they sing
Last, they sting
Screaming, screaming
Hear them ring

They tell her lies and sprinkle truth
They lure her soul into the blue

Can you see her eyes
How they truly cry
Irises of icey white

Can you find
With in her mind
The answers of the night
It might need work
If all around me the world was ending,
The here and now collapsing breath by breath
Would you be standing close to me
whispering how we met?

Would your hand be warm,
flush against my cheek?
Brushing tears from falling,
rushing like a creek.

If brimstone fire flames rose high,
Scorching all that live
Would you cast a magic spell,
a protective cage to give?

If all the lights were smothered out
and darkness sank across the ground
would you stand tall against the black?
Your heart, my light bulb, forever bound?
My dearest violet, my tempered thorn
With every word dropped like water to a petal
your vibrant exlicer powders my heart with bruises.

Yet I return each day, bowed before your feet
hands begging for more violence.
I'll take your cold throws
fully addicted to your touch.
I know not what I am,
though I exist, I persist in the acts of wondering
Am I here?
or are you there?
How does Einstein know which way is up?

If you live, long after you were born
long after your death,
would your light still show
Could you call it forever?
Or is it just another breath?

Would you call it a moment
or something much more potent.

I know not what I am
I see only stars, forever they spread
out past the future,
out near the end.
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