Sometimes I have to take a moment
just to focus on my life
Because I know not a single struggle
is to be solved with a knife
You see there are much easier ways
to get through difficult times
I myself, like to write
I am at ease with my rhymes
When I find myself really struggling
or life's getting rough
I collect my thoughts on paper
that for me is enough
So if you remember anything dear
please remember this note
Nothing is to be solved with a knife
life was meant to be wrote

Where tears are all she knew,

and from this day forward she flew..

to be no more; she mourns

simple white roses,

tangled and torn

in her golden hair that poses

her crown of thorns

bloodstains that disclosures

her angelica face of bedlam dreams

so torn to be free, oh so free

angels fall sometimes  even cry

and maybe just maybe angels die....*



Debbie Brooks 2014

Drip, drip.
The lovely red.
Drips from the veins.
Inside of your head.

Drip, drop, drip, drop.
I think your dead.
So much blood.
The pretty red.

Onto the concrete.
Blood stains on the walls.
Drip, drop, drip, drop.
Heard in empty halls.

The pleasant drip.
As your heart stops.
Like rose petals on snow.
Such lovely red drops.

Blood let's us live.
Blood also can ****.
It delivers the poison.
Brought in by the pill.

Dripping, dripping.
None left inside.
Without anymore blood.
Your carcass is dried.

We are young men buried in books
Shoveling words every day
As we are gradually shaped into tools.

Ours minds drained deep in the pools
Of knowledge. So they say
We are young men buried in books.

We find ourselves caught in hooks
Of wisdom seekers shall we pray?
As we are gradually shaped into tools.

Exhausted, some will turn into crooks
While we proudly remain grey
We are young men buried in books.

We bear fruit of hope from the roots
Of pain so follow the rules we lay
As we are gradually shaped into tools.

Are we zombies in schools?
In our paths we never stray.
We are young men buried in books
As we are gradually shaped into tools.

I'm horrified by atrocious images that consume my mind. Society is the devil without horns feeding me lies.
When the truth is, paedophiles hide behind the robes of the pope.
Pigs bath in the mud of corruption, assume high positions, incarcerate victims while the streets are flooded with villians.
I'm in a forest of lost souls and weeping spirits, where beauty is another fallen tree.
I realise that heroes are but words and words have become the heroes.

I'm saying goodbye to a world
of butterflies and majestic things
And i'm saying hello to a world
of reality and terrible things
But in that world
there is one good thing
There is you

Butterflies Butterflies
They flutter ever so elegantly
But that doesn't compare too
Your heart Your heart
that cares for me ever so wonderfully

Majestic Things Majestic Things
They keep things ever so beautifully
But that doesn't compare too
Your Heart Your heart
that loves me ever so perfectly