Her lungs are black--
Insomniac
Her Love is free
She's after me
I'm up all night
My words are trite
Our will is dead
I toss in bed
We're doomed indeed
Our vice is greed
Three hearts had Lied
We're dead inside
Our pride won't mix
We conjure tricks
With words unsaid
What faith is dead?
Thus, lust is left
With minds, bereft
Had we not learned...
That Love is earned?...

Of All My Intention: choleric and kind
I built an excursion, still feckless and blind
Through all of the chances I seldom had placed:
My mind was mistaken, my heart was defaced
I fell for a Dreamer, and She fell for me
With All Our Intention, our eyes couldn't see

When silence was golden, we fell for much less
There's much to remember, and more to confess
What hearts had we planted with all of our schemes?
We dream in the Darkness, and live in our dreams
Our Reason is chained to irrational castes
We yearned for the future, and buried our pasts

What once was ambition had turned into dust
From Love to affection, affection to lust
Our faces show sorrow; they come out at night
With each new perception, our hearts had grown trite
These hearts we had melded were built in the dark
From All Our Intention, our Fears disembark...

I writhe in ambiguity
Though the past would send their best
My will is lazily over-thrown
As I build my own gallows

I hit bedrock--
Yet still, frantically dig with more fervor
My mind is an empire on the brink of collapse
With Regret as my only ally

I threw my aspiration to the wolves
Dreaming is but a subtle luxury:
'My vivid hallucination of deceit'
Pawns have put my king in check

The side of life cries to me
I feverishly run to my grave
My heart is the product of my own dissent
Indeed, my own Intention mocks me

I am a puppet, sewn to these vices
Comfort escapes from me
My anxiety is the sum of a plethora of sins
So, when will I be written out of the story?...

Do you see the dissension within my eyes?
I stumble throughout this feverishly manipulated age
The minds of children are enslaved by their reflective masters
We yearn to destroy what Reason had painstakingly divulged

My intention marinates in this silence
I deafen its egregious cries
This past will not pass
While the mirror mocks my demons and I

My once lively will recedes beneath my synapses
These demons wonder why they still wander
With two eyes, I had to see too much
Indeed, I sold their sense of solace

Our lives are fevered dreams
Unspoken in their indignant dejection
Filled with volition, we reap what we sow--
Imprudently awaiting our own funerals...

We are controlled by what we create
A vexing tool from a creator?--
I found my death-note in a bottle
Then, silently stabbed at Caligula's sea

Obscurity has founded me
All night, we danced with Death and all their friends
We reserved our table: Misfortune and I
To crawl, ever-lovingly into self-destruction

What fevered, feckless filth are we:
A brood of virulent vipers--
With cordial smiles masking our true nature
We stumble, backwards, into our very own traps

Volition is dead to us
Indulgent indifference will lead to our violent destruction
I have the mindset of 1,000 fools--
And, I deserve this...

I forged my dreams in the mire of regret
The past had not passed me for long
The angel of Death awaits my plea of ignorance
While the sands of time bury my aspiration

I acknowledge my mistakes
Yet, do not learn from them--
Walking backward with Epimetheus off the cliff
My disdain surmounts my discerning heart's integrity

Between me, myself, and I
We produce the same Lie
Gouging out my eyes to spite my mind
I am solely affixed to its lack of fervor

My descent into dissent imprisons me
This island is no longer a paradise
I cannot run from my own mind
But, I can turn down the volume, just for tonight...

The depths of my depravity sink
My cruel and careless mind is aligned
With eyes affixed on all I've solely lost:
I dance with my scapegoating ghosts

Yearning to turn the page:
My hands are cut off by Hammurabi--
To keep from gouging Oedipus' eyes:
I am written out of the story

Ambition does not lust after me
I am forgotten in Dante's Inferno
My hands have denied any involvement--
They cite my brain for a lack-of-character(s)

Volition is cemented in the mire of Regret
Yet, She still screams to me:
"'Out ****'d spot! Out, I say!'"
So, we bury my tell-tale heart under the floor...