Here I am again
Another lost prayer from Solace
Hands folded, but trembling
Lips shaking and eyes closed

Muttering to myself
A list of regrets
At my bedside
Paying off my debts

The longer I speak
To that wall in front of me
The more I feel
My elbows sink into the sheets

And with each passing statement
The heavier my arms are
With the guilt of knowing
How I came so far

Fingers now intertwined
Gripping tightly at my skin
Biting my lips, trying not to scream
Blood dripping down, splashing on my knuckles

As the tears roll down my cheeks
And my hands collect my blood
My mind goes almost completely blank
My blood turns dark like mud

Arms now limp at my side
Face down in the sheets
My eyes snap shut
and my heart skips

I feel it against the bedside
The metronome of my chest
But sadly it won't last much longer
It's time for me to rest

Because in the world we've created
When your heart stops you haven't died
But when your faith is crumbling away
This hypocritical world turns

If you're not sitting in those pews
Every Sunday morning
I'm here to beckon a call
Maybe just a forewarning

I've witness firsthand
How people turn evil
The kindest preacher you'll ever meet
Has the sharpest knife

And as my heart finally stops
I feel a wave of solace
A light and gentle smile appears
This black void is flawless

"Hello?"
"Hello.?"
"Hello..?"
"Why..?"
"Why do you mock me?"

Lost in thought again
Why is it there
There to taunt me
Drag me
Fuel me.

I lost my faith
Not so long ago
But I feel my soul
Can you even feel a soul?
If you could, it would feel like this

Heat, Ashes… Fire?
This isn't my soul
You can't feel something
Something that doesn't
Exist

It flickers
And vanishes
Another illusion
Just like all the rest
They're all fake

The Book
The Church
The Funeral
The Afterlife
"HELLO?"

Who wrote these books
Who constructed these churches
Who organized these ceremonies
Who created this dementia
"H-hello..?"

Bible in hand
Sitting in the church
A funeral is held today
To send me to the afterlife
"..."

Except
There is no funeral
There is no church
There is no holy book
There is nothing

"Hello?"
"If you really can hear me."
"I just wanted to let you know."
"The last time we talked."
"I forgot to say goodbye."



"So."
"Goodbye."

Another passing thought, and another, another, another, another... I like being solitary, all to myself, but being alone is my biggest enemy. I used to love it, I could sit, alone, and be content forever, but now I find myself constantly seeking out someone, anyone to rip me from my own warped reality. Could I take my thoughts and my brain and re roll them, I wouldn't be me but I wouldn't be tortured...Would that make me selfish or selfless... They listen to me bring up the same subject several times whereas most people bring it up once or twice, I'll be stuck on it for days, weeks, months... When I shut my door it's an all out brawl between me, myself, and I and the only person who can stop it is...me(?), but how? When you're your own worst enemy; how do you win? I continue to sit, and brood trying to come up with a solution for this vicious cycle of bad energy. However as soon as I start I'm right back where I started, I don't feel stressed but I know I always am, when there is a leech attached to the back of my head but everytime I reach for it my hands go through nothing, my fingers full of hair, loose, falling out... I grasp for straws everyday at the bottom of a pill bottle holding a small capsule of hope, but artificial faith can only get you so far. Just like music, my headphones plug my ears, and the sound floods my head, but the enigma that is me forces it all out like a violent shockwave that keeps my attention at all times. If we could find that imaginary switch we joke about to turn ourselves off, use it on me, at'least for a couple of years, so I can take a break from arguing with myself, there may be no vocal words but that thousand mile stare consists of a thousand conversations.

The Stage is set,
As they all leave their fountain,
Mindless hunks of flesh,
Coming down from the mountain.

And now the Curtain rises,
As the first one falls,
A flourish of death,
My one true Protocol.

Our performance begins,
As they blossom to life,
Once a pointless mortal,
Now true art in the afterlife.

Watch my Puppets Dance,
One, Two, Three, Four!
Sprouting, blooming into beauty,
Now this, I truly Adore.

Smiles, Everyone, Smiles!
Don't scorn me with those blood soaked eyes,
Your misery is my masterpiece,
Together we can harmonize.

I've outdone myself this time,
There is almost no more art to be made,
I've reflected on my pieces,
And I'm not done I'm afraid.

I cannot be good, I MUST be perfection,
As they all break out into a brawl,
From far off in the distance I whisper,
This is your curtain call.

Every day I see her
Dark red hair
She treats me so sweetly
Even after a cold stare

Every day I see her
Sometimes sad
I try to make her happy
Even if it turns out bad

Every day I see her
Lost in thought
I know she works hard
Even when it's naught

Every day I see her
Grinning at me
Her face so sincere
Even if she lacks Vitamin D.

Every day I see her
At lunch she sits across
I feel my heart skipping
Even though she's my boss.

One after another
The onslaught is endless
Each strike creates another wound
My body
It's riddled with scars
Deep Deep scars
Naked before them
The ones who offer support
But they see no scars
Ridiculed they create more
Fresh wounds
Quickly dismissed
Back to my cell
In my own prison
Tending to my wounds
With tears
Words of dismay
Broken promises
And unfulfilled wishes
Soon they too
Will become scars
But it's so easy
To open old wounds
Sometimes all it takes is

The gentle summer breeze
Taking you back to the days
The days of ignorance
When nothing mattered
But everything was thrilling


Breathing Slower. . .


But zooming by
Ignorance fading
The pain of repetition setting in
When excitement fades into antiquity
And you know your days are numbered


Breathing Faster. . .


As terror sets in
The demons clawing at your mentality
Epiphany after epiphany
Trailing into darkness
Caring ceases


Breathing. . .


The cold hospital air
Yet your deathbed has never been warmer
Eyesight has left
But what's ahead is still clear
Nothing.


Breathing Stops.