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Royce Aug 2019
I lived as an enemy in my own house,

With ideas standing guard of this prisoner.

I existed in a fabrication and nostalgic nightmare,

Sapped of energy with no purpose-

I decay on this mattress.

Set me free into this overpopulated planet,

Full of the lonely and depraved,

Moving, moving, in every direction,

Bound and gagged by nature,

The heartache of yesterday's cup of tea.

I'll indulge in the desires of my senses

And face painful withdrawals alone,

I'll lose myself in the harlot's charm

And suffer her betrayal in silence.

     I only want to know I exist...
Royce Aug 2019
I’m in a state of drunkenness again,

I wish that those dead flowers

Would rise from their graves,

And join me for a glass of poison.

If only for tonight.

     You know I tried to sift out the murk,

And tried to capture a scent of old love,

Anything to escape this lonely prison;

Man-made, like everything else.

But youth never cared for excuses!

     I tilt my glass and drink, toasting to the ashes

Of a magnificent Queen and her Drunken king.

Full moon lurking in the night,

With no tomorrow in sight,

     I sit in this tunnel vision dream,

And admire.
Royce Jun 2019
I never spoke of it,

     Except for a few scribbled lines

Of confessional muck, written in pain.

No dreams of publishing, or literary fame.

I was in love and I was writing songs;

Up at 2:00am, hunched over piano keys,

Composing with the intention of resurrecting

The long dead love that lost her wings.

In my youth I could stay drunk

In euphoria surrounded by empty bottles,

With her soft flesh dreaming next to me.

     A bluemoon and lost polaroid.

Sometime during our end I sobered up,

And found a job, got fat, thought about it,

About ending it - my favorite song

Playing on repeat next to an empty casket.

She found human **** that fed her death,

And suppressed that fire I still love,

Until he extinguished her forever,

Planting her final fix and the pain

That'll haunt me until my last moment.

This has nothing to do with 2014/2015,

The last time I seen her,

In my chemical overload.

No, it's always after.

It's always an empty windy prairie

At the end of a lonely town;

The last farewell of bleeding light...
Royce Jun 2019
'What do you do?' She asked.
'I work the warehouses, I strive to escape,
I scribble lines in coffee stained note pads,
I fall in love with complete strangers,
I weep and hide away in my own world,
I read for hours on end until I feel dizzy,
I look out windows in a lonely haze
I pretend to be tough.

Often, I wish to be drunk for eternity,
I pray for a reprieve.'

'Oh,' she said. 'I don't care too much for books.'
She flicked her hair off to the side.
I felt the urge to play it out,
To see where this would go;
But usually scenes like this are death,
I'm not certain.

'Yeah, I don't like books either,' I said.
I got up and walked towards the exit.
'Take this **** with you,' she said.
She threw my copy of Proust,
Nearly decapitating me.
Royce May 2019
We spectate at a distance with dystopian minds
     In an unmistakable agony.
I watch you, and your eyes are fixated
     On my swollen decaying body.
The sounds of ***** males, and inquisitive females
     Has surrounded us and melted into eternal white noise.
I can feel my villainous heart beating to get out
     As you flick your eyelashes and drift close to me;
I bathe in your scent and catch your whisper,
     Spewing out those dangerous words, "I love you."

The majority, ordinary, type of man lacking individuality
     Has approached you with the sole intent of doing the thing;
I do not think him worthy of your footprint, but oh well.
     I'm the last of my kind. I play in other dimensions
Inside a Tipi. Sorry to let you down.

Don't get me wrong, because I could grow to love you
     And appreciate all your eccentricities,
We could be strange together and drink homemade wine
     And travel the subconscious aches of last year,
And death would not be able to catch us,
     And sorrow would flee to the mountains as we approach,
And ennui could be used as a cue to indulge in *******,
     And no I will not tame you, nor you tame me.

          So I stand and fling my possessions in the trash,
     Placing a two-line poem on my forehead.
I drift past you without a goodbye,
     Forever gone, unmistakably tired.
A love poem I am fond of.
Royce May 2019
The beer goes down and ruins the stomach,
And the insides bleed for eternity.
So what now?

     It is said that when youth drowns
The pretty angels disappear
And solitude becomes our God.

     We stare at white walls for days,
never seeing the end.

     Making chessboards out of ancient pizza boxes,
We defend against the invasion,
The chemical heroes,
With the ****** up childhood
And family full of rapists.

     I used to be world class with my musicianship,
And my daydreams use to come to life,
And I would drink whiskey early in the morning,
Before tending to my slavery.
I would ***** acid,
I would inhale everything,
I would make my mother scream,
“Stop pretending to be a GOD!” She would say.
“Leave me alone,” I would say.
Still drunk, or sick.
A real hero.
Royce Apr 2019
There always seems to be open sores bleeding
Somewhere out there.
     Men or women suffering, and sometimes there isn't anyone
Or anything to blame.

     The heat is too much, and it often feels like hell,
And it's too expensive to turn on when it gets cold.

     I knew this one guy who was self-conscious
Of his weight, his skin, his nose, his balding head,
And he asked often why no woman would have him.
     He ended it one night after a bottle of whiskey
Got the best of him.

     I walked to a church after my shift,
And lit a candle for him.
     Then I wandered around the cold chaos
Until the sun came back.
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