The poet's pain is self chosen, at least we believe it to be.

We're all players on the stage, entertainers of the modern era; using words to show the world how we see the world.

You dig deep to express yourself and you give all you can, you can bleed on the stage and give your time.

The only direction we go is with the flow of our hearts on which we abuse to create the art we so aggressively protect.

Had I know then what I know now, I'd take back my words in exchange for experience and patience- in another time I was wiser than I am now because now it's all behind me and not knowing what was in front of me was more of an advantage than learning how to live with what I lost.

No it won't be the witches that'll burn in this time.
No more black magic found in ramshackle towns.

Ring round the witch, burn her to ash, up into the sky she goes.

No it won't be the witches that'll burn in this time.

No more savage guess work, just savage lies.

Pile on top of rumor and gossip wheel and let the accusations fly.

Bring you torch, bring your sword, bring your bible out back;
we found a threat that we strapped to the rack.

Confess or deny, civil rights and laws don't apply.

Burn the witch for thought, burn the witch for money, burn the witch for ***** face or to claim humility.

But it won't be the witches that'll burn in this time, they'll get shamed in broad daylight for someone elses crime.

The words we leave behind the loved ones- things we never said.
If only for a moment an "I love you" could've saved it all.
"I miss you" "I'm sorry"
These are the phrases that haunt us and yet everyone has them.
We're really not so different if we feel the same and leave the same phrases unspoken.
Regret is a mask we all seem to wear and so we all look the same, sheep in a herd of wolves when they come out to speak their mind and utter the phrases we only want to say.

The words we leave behind grit the path and allow those after us to venture further than we had the strength to.

If I could I say I'm sorry, would it have even mattered?
Maybe it's better that I leave the words unsaid, the unknown future is as unknown if the words are said or not, outcomes may differ but does it matter?

Hindsight is twenty-twenty but since I can never see the other outcomes, do they matter anyway?

Sometimes allowing things to fall is the only way to rebuild.

Ghost tunes, do you dance at the edge of my mind.
Haunted music I hear you before me.
And so as I fall into a troubled sleep, you are with me. My fated soundtrack to the afterlife.

Great Beethoven do you torment me so?

Master of the symphony do you choose to curse me so?

I sleep not on the edge of sanity for whenever I approach repose you come snarling back, like a demon of sound at my mind.
Gnawing at my soul, Poe- you have doomed me you blackbird, vile creature and black cats who haunt me from under floorboards.

I spend time on waking life for sleep has long since left me and now the ethereal tunes do keep me company.

For I am living for the ghosts of Master's past, and so in my fairytale life there is no resort, there is no break.
Haunt me Masters and show me your torment, allow me to steal from the ghosts of the past, the greater minds than I.

Haunted, I am.