All rise, and he's still sitting down.


Arms outstretched, fingers clasped.


They move to the rhythm ingrained.

Sipping on the glass, he waits.


Any of this, he passes up.

Still awaiting for the tattered dress to sweep in the door.

What do you know about the demons that visit us at night?
What do you know about the song that sings when two souls meet?

So you say, that I'm bad to the bone.
So you say, that I'm good for nothing.



What do you know, of being you then?

Even if my life should be snuffed out tomorrow,

For sanity's sake,

I cannot reach out to you anymore.


A stage where the state of best conditions, and good intentions brought ruin.

I'll use this pain, to create the world I always wanted.

Your ash, my embers.

My dark soul, your dying flame.

This pain I feel, it's beautiful.
This pain I feel, it's magnificent.

An odd sense of humour, life has.

This closure I have, soul-rattling.
This closure I sought, psychedelic.

No more tears with my years.
No more fears with my years.

I flew too close to the sun.
Now for my own good.

No more.

Cold sweat running down the face

Mouth clenched in anticipation of the yawning pain


The open wound festering would've been preferable to the sealing, stitching of it.

Dour expression on my face as I make the choice

Because I know, I know I have to do this.


Til we meet again.

You.

I don't know what it is that I see in you.

Neither do I know how that this came to be.

These logistics demand that the evergreen status of my mind request the answer to it.

But as for me, I've decided.
I'll stop fighting.

I'll let these waves caress my skin.

I'll indulge myself in these feelings.

Maybe one day I'll wake up and realise it was but an illusion.

A dream.

An inception born from a desire to connect.

But then again.

From my desire, there was surrender.
From my gradual surrender, power.

I love you.

This crazy stupid love.

Who would've guessed, us?

Of all people?

wistful desire to return in thought or in fact to a former time in one's life, to one's home or homeland, or to one's family and friends; a sentimental yearning for the happiness of a former place or time:



Tracing the runes down your face
Memory serves me well, I did this before.

Inside yesterday again, tasting sepia.


Funny, it tastes like maple syrup.
Accompanied by Dutch syrup stripping
Randy layers of my mind away

Cryogenic tones take over
Ravaged by time itself
Yesterday will always be rosy

But today has tender roughness
Today has the King in Black attending to his Lady In Red
Tomorrow will have him repeat the same cycle again
Because yesterday will always be rosy


It's yesterday, and a funeral.
It's yesterday, and a broken promise.
It's yesterday, and a contract signed.

It's just yesterday.

Feeding the gruel to the children at the youngest age you could.

Then tearing away the bandages that held them together, not even the scars were left.

And it seemed like they would break out of the cycle you placed them in.


Only, they were doomed to become their tormentors.

Call me angry,
call me needy,
call me clingy,
tell me I'm full of want.

But you should know, when you kissed me for the first time,
the maelstrom in my heart waned, and the chaos that wrapped her head around it dissipated.

for only with you do my soles get set on fire,
the dark of the night becomes more welcoming like day is supposed to be,


and the love, you've got the love.

2 : make progress; develop in a particular manner or direction.


A heart that wanted nothing but to be held with the tightest of vices, yet with the intention of time spinning silk.

Yet, the grey was all it knew.
And when the time came, the heart shattered other hearts, not knowing how it should feel.

Thus, like how the grey began, the grey crawled to a halt, after the domain it lived in grew decrepit, rank.

And it is rain, in the forest.

Finally I am free1
I pay the cost2
The tears dry up0
The time slides by7
The heart's cold winter opens up to the2 eye of the storm0
The throne of want, and the crown of1 irony.*7



Why does this hurt so much?
Is this how normal people do normal things and have normal hearts broken?
Is this the constant loop of emotion and separation, a dance to find the other?
Is it because there's something wrong with the moon tonight, perhaps being born under an unlucky star?
Is this how heartbreak, feels like after all this time?
How do I reconcile my feelings, how do I keep my immaterial guts from spilling out?
Why is it, even after everything, so beautiful?
Why is everything a beautiful wreck, sordid and macabre?
Why is it, that I still am in love?

My actual question to myself is this then.

Shall I destroy everything I have built for the sake of starting over, and feeding off the fresh new scars & pain so I can write again?

Will it be worth it?
(Maybe, of course, perhaps)

It doesn't diminish the fact I love her, does it?

Mistakes done twice are a decision.

I'm her filthy little engine of self destruction and hate. Point me in the direction you want me to go, hold me close and steer me well.

It's a forked path.
Maybe even if I do this, I'll end up on the same road I've always been on.

A vicious pronged indecisiveness.

Maybe that's why my heart is no longer with its cruel mistress.
She doesn't satisfy me anymore.
It was never about the ***, it was always the challenge. The subtle nuances she bought out.

And now.
Complacency leads to straying.

Her records stopped scratching.
How long ago, I don't know.

The gravity of assertion, the innocuous chuckles and giggling, with the eyes of experience and eagerness.

Illusions that I don't even seem to be aware of, the deeper meanings behind my words and low monotonous chuckling.

With every move certain, until it becomes unsure anymore what's behind the door.

Succumb, and pull on my strings as much as I can to you.

Fall under this house of dominance.
Kneel before the end of choices.
Understand your will doesn't exist anymore.

I wished for an angel to descend,
Only to pluck out their wings and burn the feathers.

I hoped to hold a scent to memory,
Instead scorched earth yet I recall.

Maybe it's me.
Maybe it's me.

I fought to hold what I held dear.
Only for it to slip out anyway, when I wasn't looking.

Now, I'm an idiot in a parade of fools.


With shell and bone, I let go of you.
With iron and stone, I become him.

Leave the king in black be. It's hopeless.