I find my words getting lost in the mildew.
Expressions lost, is my sadness valid?
Surely not, my life is filled with beauty.
But I cannot strike down this dull devil.
Watching, waiting for the cracks to appear.
I wonder, will he ever leave my side?
Or is this marriage til death does us part?
Til death. I wonder how fast that clock ticks.
Like a heartbeat or perhaps a race horse.
Perhaps the time draws near or further still.
I do not know, I am merely a pawn,
and I know that this game is not quite done.

I wore the shell of a cockroach.
Donned over my shoulders, I became king.
A wonderful life, Lord of all that is.
Close your eyes and envision a field.
It is dotted with speckles of wheat and cat-tails.
In the distance you spy a single tree stretched tall.
Beneath it under the shade,
won't you sit for a spell with me?

Let the wax of the day melt away.
My child we can be free, sitting still.
Then slash at our wrists
let the blood drain and stain the earth.
We will be white, cold husks,
our sins forgotten, washed away,
our corpses baked by the morning sun.

There is no room for God in the machine.
Between the gears greased with the blood and regrets.
A tick tock of grinding, copper and gold.
At the base the china doll rests in soot
a tear running down its porcelain cheek.
On and on, a circus of industry.
Colorblind of all but the greys and red.
A huddle of birds in the rafters pray
that perhaps they'll escape this hell one day.

A devil sits on my shoulder and asks,
"Son, why is it that you think you're alive?"
while grinning and brandishing that gold knife.
He flips it, backwards and forth, left and right.
Just waiting for that glint to catch my eye.
"C'mon boy, take it, let's dig for rubies."
My breath hastens, I find myself shaking.
"Go on boy, that's it, let the panic in."
He's drooling now, and he may be *****.
With a quiver I slowly take the blade.
He licks his lips, and looks on with dark bliss.
With the blade a pen I make my way up,
A practiced butcher, I steady my hands.
"I'm proud of you my boy," he softly coos.
and with a sigh I plunge, birthing new scars.
I know not the number, much like the stars.
As my blood cascades down, a tickling stream,
his tongue unravels, he takes a deep drink.
"Yes my son, you weak little *******..."

his thirst content he draws his breath and screams,

"LOOK IN THE ******* MIRROR YOU PILE OF ****
NO ONE COULD EVER LOVE A THING LIKE YOU."

And I tug and tear and my earth shatters,
I rip at my flesh exposing the bone.
I cry for my mother, my father, my wife.
Unanswered my voice echoes off the void.
I look down at the blade and chuck it away,
The blood pools around me, I pray that I drown,
were I lucky, today would be the day.
But alas here I stand, donning my paper crown.

The devil is gone, away with the wind,
all that is left are me and my sins.

Can you ******* sincerity songbird?
Can you hear the truth quaver from my lips?
Can you smell the ash of our long gone sins?
Can you see the water welled in my eyes?
Can you touch the love, at least what remains?

I hope they sift my name through the ashes
and remember it as gentle and kind.
I hope to God they crack a wrinkled grin.
For then I too can peacefully decay.