You label him Monster
when he snaps and he growls,
but you're the ones smashing bottles in their playground,
They were here long before us
and they spilt blood for what they have,
you only shed sweat.
But, by all means, keep talking trash
until the garbage defines you.
You are what you regurgitate
and all I see spilling out
is a spout of nothing.
Is that what you dream of being?
They were here long before you knew this place existed,
So take down your obscene signs,
burn your hate-woven flags,
leave the poor ******* with something.

Would that I could show you
all the joy that has been smothered
in the black garbage bag, of your hollow heart.
Would that I could give you
a token of my true feelings,
that would hold your hungry ego over
for longer than a day.
Would that I could take from you
the sadness that sustains your anger,
and the self loathing
that your hatred gluts itself on.
Would that You could see me for who I am,
a being beyond the worst of your emotion,
who wants nothing more
than for you to wrap yourself in a love
that will not fade,
however you may try to scour it from existence,
and will someday seep into your being
like a divine poison,
and **** the lurking hatred
that dwells deep down inside you.
So that the love, that cowers behind it
may step forth into the light.

You don't get it,
pen pal nonsense and all that
is a dead end road, with fifty foot cliffs on each side.
You're on the inside, and I'm on the outside.
The grubs, and needy feelies need you.
You cannot be alone,
and I am a loner.
Is it recognition of your quality that you desire,
well, I thought I gave that.
Or, perhaps its a companion, to stay with you
through the long and lonesome nights,
a lover for your life and nothing more...
Well, it ain't me babe.
I have, do, and will love you,
but, I cannot climb the wall anymore,
I don't like what has become of the inside.
So, do the right thing.
Look around you,
pick your poison,
and drink it.
Because I nearly died climbing over that wall.
And, I will not do it again.


But, If I pass by the place, in the hollow hours,
I will whisper through the cracks,
and stick my fingers through the holes.
And, if your not busy, and your hands aren't tied,
we can hold hands at the gate.
Until the guards drive me off,
and drag you back to your cell.