I wonder if like a storm you are
unaware of the damage you inflict.
Flooding these walls with screams,
shattering the fragility of our home.

I assume you are too caught up
within your own struggles to break free.
The wrath of your thoughts and those
calculating fingers rake your flesh.

Etching violent artistry's to your soulless
voids. Little needles which pin-***** at
the dark corners of your mind; awakening
the dormant cruelty sheltered within.

It is only through the cusp of night that
apologies emerge as you feign delicacy.
Your liquid skies fade to hellish hues as
you tell me not to lust after hurricanes.

I see desolation stapled across all of my dreams
and wake up every day to a life that’s no different, it seems.
There’s no black and white here, just shades of gray,
a collage of all the pieces that broke off and fell away.

What have I become in their absence?
And where do I go from here?
The apprehension in your voice paints no illusions, it’s clear
that you don’t have the answers, do you?
I thought not, my dear.

I’ve thrown myself around this wretched rock
a thousand times in your name,
traversed this sphere just trying to forget it
and still wound up the ******* same.

Now these bones are all I have left
and I would exchange them
for you to put your head upon my chest
and hear the silence you created.

A bottle in and I find solace at the bottom,
I lament this life and all of its problems,
is it wrong to long for something less monotonous?
Work. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.
Just to be forgotten.

I cut my teeth and paid my dues,
gave it my all, but it was never enough for you.
I’ve tried everything, what am I supposed to do?
When you still won’t leave me,
even though I’ve begged you to.

I look at this house and I see misery in the walls,
a history of long late nights, forsaken love and secret calls.
When was the last time I told you, “I loved you”, I can’t even recall,
or if there was ever a time
that I ever meant it at all.

We built this house and all of the memories it conceals,
but if you peel back the layers, see the emptiness revealed.
What started out as infatuation has bred a mutual hate,
I dream of snapping your ******* neck
and still say ‘I love you’ to your face.

This is what we’ve done to each other.
This is what we’ve become.

I’m not proud of what I am and I’m not scared of what you are,
But I am terrified we’ve missed the exit,
that we’ve taken this too far.
Is this all just a consequence
of falling in and out of love?
You either die happy together or live long enough
to tear each other apart.

Two empty seats by the kitchen, the smell of breakfast,
the coffee *** hissing. It’s all missing.
This doesn’t feel like home, this is a tomb.
The radio says your name and it’s repeated by the news,
they’re holding you in their prayers, begging that you come home soon.

I’m losing hope each day,
we’ve never spent this long apart
and without you this house is so ******* empty,
this world is so ******* dark.

And I feel utterly helpless, not knowing where you are.
They say that home is where the heart is, so where is my ******* heart?
Where is my ******* heart?

The hardest part of letting go is knowing nothing will ever change
no matter how far my body wanders, my heart refuses to pull away.
It’s been warped and contused by the beauty of this black hole love,
the further I fell in, the slower I seemed to come apart.

I buried myself inside your false comfort, your arms became my tomb.
You were a fitting final resting place, my bones, yours to exhume.
But I’ve died so many times in the absence of your touch,
that I’ve resigned myself to a life alone, abandoned in the dust.

And I can’t convince myself, that I wouldn’t do it all with you again
just promise me that we’ll forget each other before the end, my friend.

The homesick heart of a war driven soldier
beats to the sound of shrapnel.
Smoke and death fills his lungs,
The land stinks of blood and spent ammunition.

He wakes in his bed, half a century and a thousand miles away,
covered in the sweat of war. His wife long gone,
offers comfort from her side of the bed.
Even her ghost can’t quell him.

Fifty years a soldier,
Could never shake these hounds of war
and they come around to remind him.
Fill his head and heart with a sorrow, no man should bear alone.

Just because it didn’t **** him,
it doesn’t mean he didn’t give his life.