There's death everywhere.
Why is that a bad thing?
Death is natural.
Our reactions to it are not.
I'm back in the shadows
Where I belong.
Once again,
I shave the weakness from my skin.
If a warrior can sharpen his blade,
Then the blade can sharpen the warrior.
There's nothing wrong with that.

Every brushstroke
A scream
Every sentence
A body
We hide our anger
Our frustration
Our catharsis
In pretty colors
And euphamisms.
Better to misdirect
Than to act.

I'm free.
I should feel better after 21 days.
But it's all the same.
The walls aren't off-white.
There isn't double-pane glass everywhere.
There aren't nurses to ask about
"Suicidal Ideation".
But it's all the same.
I'm not free.
Not when my mind follows me
Wherever I go.

We are born
And then thrown
Into a hole.
Expected to know
From the beginning
How to survive.
They'll ask you:
"What will you
Do with the
Life you have?"
The only answer
They will detain
Hate and berate
You for speaking
Is: "End it."

It may be a finite resource,
But it's most precious.
Rich with iron,
The only ****** fluid with
Which you can smith
A sword.
You know I've always
Felt more at home
In the dark.
Treading water
Is sometimes
Too much.
And I'll return to
The dirt when
It's my time
To do so.
The only thing that
I know for sure
Is that pain doesn't
Feel real
Unless it comes from within.

That means something
Very different
To both of us.
The rushing water
May work as your filter
But we both know
That to purge
I need pain
Blood
To force out the hurt.

What, then
Do you recommend
For reverberation
Of the soul?
When nature
In all her glory
Decides instead
To turn the heavens
Into an assault.
Pouring thunder,
Lightning
Down my throat
As I pour the dark
Sludge of resentment
From my ears
In return.