Lucifer, the one that shines,
the morning star,
God's favorite,
cast from heaven for his sins.
And by that sin fell the angels.

but do you really believe that the devil is a monster?
That he, who was an angel, is grotesque?
No, he is beautiful and tempting,
an angel dwelling on earth,
and, god, he knows how to play a person.

Lucifer just wanted to be more like God,
is that so wrong for him to desire?
Thrown from paradise for
wanting to be like his father.
How sickening.

I can not find one reason not to cry
Nor to shed a single tear or to be drowned out in defeat
I have been bullied by life's many faults
The inner workings of my own self doubt beaten to a pulp in a split second
The impulses that drive through my thoughts instilling madness from within
Numbed to the bone by regret and remorse
Engraved into the fabric of my soul
Shredding my well being until nothing is left
I can not put out the flames that destroy me

1, 2, 3, 4,*
    I declare a ****** war.
5, 6, 7, 8,
    Strap up and don't be late.
9, 10,
    Come on over, let's begin.  
11, 12,
    Point my shotgun to your head.
1, 2, 3, 4,
    Why'd I find you in her bed?
5, 6, 7, 8,
    Don't move, it's already too late.
9, 10,
    Hit the floor.
11, 12,
    You're no more.

me, and all, covering up
the true essences
the real me, the real you,
the night's passionate
echoes the smell of Wisteria
left on sheets, there in the
soil, dark life giving moistness,
the furrows plowed,
the rows and rows tilled,
belongs me, belongs you,
emerging, sprouting,
beginning to love, and justness,
just as our roots push down, emerges,
from the loam, a new
song a, new me,
a new you.

Turning any direction
Though knowing,
None do hold Avenue
Nor bliss, just reflections
Infrequent Glimpses of then
Familiar fragrances on the wind
Bitter recollections,
Irreconcilable differences,
Heartbreak,
Changes...
You, in every direction.
You echo over and over
From far away places
Forever which replay
Images of you,  from then
Such is memory
Easier these days
So far off those moments
That still surface
To be replaced sometime
Some day in the future.

My consumption is somehow sinful but in a fabricated way that makes honey seem like cyanide, or perhaps just the opposite (, I'm not sure in truth). Delight is suppressed by my self-skepticism working to root out my faithful and trusting naivete. Somehow skepticism gets lost in my incessant wanderings and wonderings and surely in my pensive ponderings. I debate what your truth is and if you have seen the same paintings that hang in my walls and in my memories. It must be acknowledged, the chance that you have forgotten and remembered the entire Nothing. My only prayer is that you might have insomnia.