I’ve got a confession to make, I wasn’t always there for you and at times I didn’t think. I wasn’t thinking about your feelings, and I want to apologize for the way I handled the night you tried to leave, I am an addict and didn’t know how to process my feelings. I have processed, grieved, and accepted those feelings. I love you forever and always but I will never be the one to you. I confess of my gut wrenching sin of playing with your blood and laughing behind the scene. I realize that wasn’t who I want to be. I have lived it over and over in my mind, and I’m ready to say goodbye to it. I hope you can forgive me of my sin of writing your name in my horrible mistake. I’m raising the white flag this time, and let it be known nation wide, I will not be that person who had clipped wings. I got over it and burnt the bridge, now better days are coming for me, I can feel it in the air. As I breath in the fresh canvas, I am writing this one bare.

toxic is the root word of evil
iconic in its glory of the seed
turing in a world full of pools
each one empties into a pipe
which the wheels on the chucks
guide the deck to its bluff
hopping from one pool to another
until they're all empty with each other
until the wheels turn the other way
we keep skating to the day
the toxic trait fades away
the shoes no longer grip
on the slim gravel strip
sliding off the side
toxic evil strides of left
while the right is counterfeit
on these words of defeat
lifting the traits of habit
since you no longer have to bet
on the one who will ride
with you till you decide
whether or not to confine
in the toxic twisted rhythm
of the words of your wave
turning to the moons tide
swirling and spinning with
the flame under your eyes
left and right is the motion
of the roll in the hole
that will sink you to your
empty pool with no
more gratitude
only toxic magnets
pulling and tugging
you under the earths
poll of direction
of toxic heat
of all the words
exhaled from your fait
of wanting to escape
from toxic traits

Manifesting is a source of thought and needs that are wanted by the person who will succeed in the result of the demand. With ears listening and reporting to the devil, growing each and every time you want something to become true. Manifest it in your mind, and it will become true. Only it comes with a price of loosing your free ride, to wherever your white destination once was. Manifesting stains the white with each drop of blood you have lost. Feeding the manifestation into more than a thought in your mind, because its the only thing your forced to listen to. No matter what you try to do, once you manifest something the devil will consume every last drop of your white and burn the words into ashed smearing them onto the white walls in your mind. Resulting in the loss of your soul because someone wanted you to fall. So instead of fighting for your future, the only thing left to do was write about your past while the voices stop and whisper. Because that's what they are born to do, demanded by their master to keep you from praying for forgiveness and turning around. They follow you around with every single memory of the past, and using them till you pass the torch of remorse. Feeling nothing after the date, that was manifested for your fate. ******* everything out of you is what manifesting will do. Starring off into the unknown will cause your troubles to be known, by everybody who listens just wants the attention. Deja Vu means experiencing the same memory in the exact same way while being in the right place at the right time, but if its the right place and the right time then why can't we remember the first time. If it's right and right then what is left and left? Left time and left place. Opposite of Deja Vu is remembering the wrong place and the wrong time. If we remember the past so well, then why can't we remember the familiar so well? Manifest for unlimited and it will never seem to end, and only grow and grow and grow until the limbs can not point in the direction of the Eastern sun and grow to the direction on the sound of the silent manifestations. Pointing their limbs with cruel intentions of hexing the called upon with green live twigs turning the oxygen into carbon monoxide to thin, green turns into brown dying with a frown. Once smiling at the leaves, the manifestor kills the bee.

music is the only way to travel
without having to close your eyes
in the tunnels of the vibrations
causing lengths of waves
from tunnels without pages
leaving you with the ages.
Each decade has its own tone
of where it wants to be told,
imprinting the memory of
wanting to be carved into your sense
of everything stopping to be missed.
Music has the power to pulse
without a heartbeat or blood
wanting to be pumped through veins
instead music slowly turns into the
atmosphere of sound breaking though
the ear with its wall of desperate
feelings of wanting to be heard
whether wrong or right the music
will decide of your mood
and will always be the same
each and everyday.
Nothing to grab so its perfectly clear
to want to sit and stare into the
melody of its lyrics swifting into the air.
Nobody cares what she has to offer
because all she does is lie beneath
and stare at all your songs of choice
while studying them until she can use
the music you love to destroy your ear.
She sits and waits while you write
and comply with the ideas of your mind.
She tells you that they were hers
questioning if your even able to
perform in the shadow of her disease
of needing to be the artist of the one
that fills your soul with its fire.
She who is I am referring to goes by
the name of your enemy in the song
that plays along with every beat
turning the lyrics of your favorite
song into the one you have to stop
listening to because it takes something
from you.

love is all of you wrapped up into one,
each emotion dancing on the tongue.
Within each second the heart skips,
to the beat of the melody in the song.
Of wanting to feel alive in your arms,
with the smell of your skin's chemical.
Being released into the air of my pathway,
only wanting to be declared of its name.
Impure longing for the time of subliminal,
rotation of your lowest thresholds of sense,
lowering the beat of its direction to be missed.
Guiding me to the final destination of his love,
of wanting to be loved by someone who is not me.
Who wants to be wrapped up in his web of lies,
sometimes I wish it was me because of all the dreams.
He promised in the name of his love shouting with words,
that were only syllables rolling off my vibe to complete the chase.
After the chase was done with me, my love was no longer what he wanted to see.
Love was only going one way in this relationship, only bouncing off the one who did not want it.
Leaving it up to me to be the one to turn the other way, even though my walls scream his name.
The screams get louder with every memory I reminisce, only to be dismissed of the love.
I once offered to a man that was chasing after the chase, and not wanting to be placed in the race.