1508

You cannot make Remembrance grow
When it has lost its Root—
The tightening the Soil around
And setting it upright
Deceives perhaps the Universe
But not retrieves the Plant—
Real Memory, like Cedar Feet
Is shod with Adamant—
Nor can you cut Remembrance down
When it shall once have grown—
Its Iron Buds will sprout anew
However overthrown—

I asked a man for a ciggerate, he pulled the pack out of his back pocket. Handed me one, like it was a loaded gun. Like I was going to laugh and make fun. Turn on him quick & run. I stood there in the dark breeze humming Bob Dylan. He turned to me and said, " kid I see you with a gun to your head, always hiding in bathrooms like that's your heaven instead" he layed out the floor plans on how life worked. Graphs and data of the sorts. No fancy words, no past life inquiry. Not a man but an eagle. He said he still sees me with a gun in my hand as he flew away to some unreachable tree top. The lights faded out, realizing how alone you are, with a gun to your head, on the bathroom floor trying to make it to heaven instead, you dip your toes in the lake of fire. It's warm, I could stay a while.

I like this side of my door, I like the lock on it.
How there's no key. Solid wood, pretty. I like the boxes I can stack against it full of the things I promised myself I'd never open again. The diseased words of people I thought I meant something to. They stick nicely with tape.
He said tonight's the night like any night, to lose it. I leaned my head against the concrete, staring at the castle I built infront of a door that should've been a window. Cause there's on one to play with. I make myself sick to my stomach thinking. I'd rather be puking from drinking. Where's your friends Madison, where's your friends. What were you thinking...

If walls could talk to spill the lies
We'd see the world through devil's eyes

Excuse me, may I have your attention please?
I'm screaming, I'm broken, I'm on my knees.
Everyday is a torture, with frustration and fear,
Close  your eyes and look at me, the end is near.

Excuse me, may I have your attention please?
Destruction and desperation is all I see.
Cuts and bruises are crystal clear,
Close your eyes and look at me, the end is near.

Excuse me, may I have your attention please?
I'm exhausted and empty and begging for release.
Today is a blur and numbness is all I hear,
Close your eyes and look at  me, the end is near.

But no, your eyes are open but you're not looking at me,
Your eyelids are blinking but you don't see;
I was trapped but now I surrender my barriers,
The end is not near, no, the end is here.

There's a little graveyard
just outside of town
The grass is overgrown
The trees are dead and brown
For as long as I remember
No one's been up there
And from the look of the dead flora
Nobody really cares

It's about a mile east of here
The fence is almost gone
It's never going to get mistaken
for good old forest lawn
There's not a stone of granite
Most are white, or made of wood
There are spots among the headstones
where others may have stood

I thought it was a potter's field
for those destitute and poor
but, upon close examination
i have discovered so much more
The names go back before the war
The civil one I mean
Back before the Pilgrims came
back to sixteen seventeen

There is no history of them at all
The names aren't from this town
But, there they are on ancient stone
Buried in our ground
It's really something different
The feeling of knowing who they were
Were they here in search of riches
Or chasing down the wealth of fur

I've checked all the stones still standing
Two hundred thirty one in all
that includes the stones rough hewn
left leaning by the wall
The town itself was started
Back in eighteen forty two
So compared to those here lying
The town is fairly new

The graveyard is neglected
There's no body here at rest
from since the town was started
laid in this hallowed nest
There's crosses and carved angels
Whole families as well
With this much soul protection
They will never go to hell

No one knows about them
But in this field the dead still lie
About a mile east of Vickston
With the road, cars passing by
No one will go up there
To tend those who came before
So, they'll sleep soft here forever
And dream of life forever more

Why do cuss words come out,
Unrighteously in pain,
Our brain,
Triggering the thoughts...or emotions.
Dislocating your leg, chapped lips
broken heart.
Dead Sea ****** mask,
Keep the positive vibes flowing,
Over this cup I refuse to drink of,
This sorrow that holds on so strongly,
I'm an ant at a picnic of life,
Wasn't invited, wasn't invited, wasn't invited.

"The problem with suicide is that when it becomes an option in your mind, it's always an option."