For people like us,
Living in a place
Of demons and monsters
Is reality.
Our words are our weapons,
Our rhyme and rhythm our only defense.
Our comrades the others like us,
For we are all Silvertongues
In our own right.
The two greatest gifts given to us
Are the ability to create
And the ability to destroy.
But only we,
The Silvertongues,
Can do both with the written word,
And on the same page.

I think I'm broken...
Everyone is enjoying the season,
Swimming in the holidays.
But I would enjoy nothing more
Than to spend Christmas Eve
Stalking my house with a loaded gun,
Waiting for a man I know doesn't exist.

The man
Born of pain,
Gallevants
'Cross the stage,
To the cheers
And the jeers of the people.

He dances
All day,
In the sun
And the rain,
As his fears
Become more and more real.

He keeps
The charade,
Tries to fight
Through the haze,
As the music
Calls much darker evil.

Till the man,
In his prime,
Turns away from
His life,
And he watches
It all start to crumble.

He's so sick
Of the dance,
That he keeps
Falling flat,
Of his heart
That was ever so fickle.

To his head
Held a gun,
Not in love
Games or fun,
But the dancer
Had naught left to live for.

*Bang

You said I shouldn't have ignored you today.
That you wanted to talk to me.
That you didn't mean to bother me but I should've answered.
I told you I was in a mood.
Not to take it personally.
I avoided everyone today.
You told me that I shouldn't be an *******.
This.
You
Are the ******* reason I spent all day,
Sitting on my bed,
Strumming my guitar.
Playing the same songs over and over.
I could've hung myself from the rafters instead of restringing it.
But I didn't.
Maybe I should have.
At least then I wouldn't have to deal with the hypocrites that make me want to in the first place.

I sit and ponder
How a steady mind
Can pick through a pile
Of cluttered characters
And combine them
Into words that can
Change the world.

As we're caught,
Trapped,
And dragged along,
Unwilling,
In this sweeping tide.
As the hands wave by seconds,
Into Minutes,
Into hours.
As time drags us,
Heads bouncing against the concrete,
We seen to have given up.
With each second pass,
A heart stops.
With each ****** minute,
Another man has lost his sanity.
Another family,
Lost their son.
We are a strange race.
Creating constraints that bind us,
Almost as if we need that reminder.
That no matter what we do,
Where we go,
Who we defeat.
The ticking counts down
Until it is our turn
To be launched into the abyss
Off the second hand of
A
Ticking
Clock

The Devil stopped me today,
On my way back around
The cyclic road we walk.
He folded his hands and sighed,
His eyes soft and sad.

"Mike." He began.
"I'm sorry. I have to stop you.
You've had your turn around."
He beckoned me towards him.

"You know of those you've hurt.
Of the damage that you've done."
Here his eyes seemed to harden.
"You can't make up for the mistakes that you've made."

"Even Gods have their time.
Let your tongue of silver rest."
He tilted his head.
"No punishment awaits you."

"No pain.
I know that every moment
Of existence pounds in your temples.
You wish for an end."

He taps his foot and a hole splits
The Earth.
"Come with me. You've already had your torment. I can stop the voices."

He nods to me.
"I can stop the pain."

The Devil stopped me today.
At the crossroads of time and space.
He made me a deal.
A deal I couldn't refuse.

My soul.
For the end.

Unlucky 13,
I feel your pain.
Your loneliness.
Those around you are seen as normal.
You do not look very different,
Yet, for some reason, you are marked.
I've followed the same path,
And I've found myself
On the sometimes non-existant,
13th floor.

Well ****.
Ha, that could be the name of my autobiography.
Anyway...
Once again, people have grown infatuated with the words rolling off my tongue.
They sound pretty...
But do you really understand them?
You see me every so often,
But do you really know me?
I'm sorry.
I don't do it on purpose.
I don't want to sound conceited, but...
It just happens.

It's unnerving
To scream silently
Into a void
And be greeted
By deafening silence

A lost cause never makes a good lesson.

I don't need an army.
I don't need people to relay orders.
I don't need tanks or mortars,
Missiles or grenades.
I've always fought my own battles.
And I've always fought them alone.
I've never needed anyone.
And usually I lose when other people get involved.
Step back.
Stay out of the war.
Find your own battle to fight.
I am my own legion.
And as long as you don't intercede,
I am guaranteed victory.

It's painfully easy
To share a condescending veiw,
Even when more will change
With action than will with word.
Yet another lecture is what I get.
I'm fully aware I disappoint you.
You've made it widely known.
But I'm not sure I care anymore.
It's just as easy in my mind
To splatter some ink onto the page
As it is to splatter my brains on the ceiling.
I guess we'll see which hurts less.

You drifted off,
Around 11 O' Clock,
On line 8 of page 9, Chapter 1.
I feel a sense of pride
That my voice can soothe you to sleep.
Nobody else that I know of
Has that affect on you,
I can't wait to pick up where we left off
Tomorrow night.

A few fleeting words for a faraway friend;
Welcome back.

Outside the window
Resides a colorless world.
The cloud is gray and all else is white.
The pane is dotted with elegant flakes,
The roads and walks are covered.
The perfect day for staying in,
Wrapping up with your love
Under a warm blanket.
And maybe later,
A war with projectiles
Of packed frozen water,
Perhaps?

I've worked for months,
Trying to build something sustainable.
But when I get angry,
I feel an urge to burn down everything,
And start over somewhere else.

Sometimes,
I want to burn.
From the inside, out.
Until I'm nothing but dust,
Memories blown away with the wind.
Do you know
Where I can find
Something to accelerate the agony?
To help me burn quickly,
Yet spare me no pain?
Oh well...
If you find anything, give me a call.
I'll take it off your hands.

An empty hallway lit by a creeping gloom.
Walls lined with old photographs,
From past, present and future.
These alternate with sealed passageways.
The door behind me is bolted shut,
It is impossible for me to return there.
A shallow fog clutches the floor,
Rolling towards the far end of the hall.
It seems like it's trying to pull me along,
But I brace myself by leaning back.
No doors are open,
So I wait in the hallway.
Maybe I won't be stuck here for long.
Maybe...

"I don't want to live."
The dead man sobbed.
"When life begins, everything else ends..."

I was wrong.
Eventually, a rifle warms up,
After you put a few hundred rounds through it.
People, however,
Grow increasingly colder.
They're much more difficult to operate.
I'd rather hear the percussive beat of a bullet firing
Than I would the angry, unfounded accusations.
The recoil into my shoulder is better
Than the pangs in my chest when I realize she never cared.

Hello.
Surprised to see me?
I said I would return.
It's just happened sooner than I predicted.
I'm doing well.
I've returned,
A king to his kingdom,
A lord to his manor,
A master to his craft.
Now please, shoo.
There is work to be done.

I walk a slumbering city,
Shuffling through an endless inky cloud.
90 minute walk to the house.
I can't even call it home anymore.
Home is where the heart is
And my heart can't even find itself.

The number has doubled.
Our ranks are swelling.
Together we are ubstoppable.
One Silvertongue is a menace.
Two is a storm.
I bid you welcome, Old friend.
Better or worse,
Change is change.
We have change in common.
And of one thing I am certain.
I've missed the mystery man that you once made me.

I drown the sorrows in the strongest thing I can get my hands on.
An acoustic guitar thrums in the background,
The light rapping of a hi-hat keeps pace.
My eyes are bleary and half focused,
A tear runs a track down my cheek.
I wake up in the morning,
The speaker still on
And still going.
For a moment,
The world seems better.
Until the yelling starts upstairs.

I inhale nicotine
Exhale amphetamines
And cry carcinogenic tears
But I still can't become
Numb enough not to care

My eyes may not be kind,
Or a light happy blue.
But that is because they are tainted
By the things they've seen.
Grime and unpleasantness
Will build up.
But you can still look through broken windows,
No matter how cracked.
But that's only if there's something on the other side to see.

A fall is not always the end,
For when an Angel may find herself
Surrounded by irridescent showers,
She can still spread her wings and fly.