Sorry but I don't need you here
I want to be alone
All I need is my Mollie dog
laying by my side
Its not my intention being rude
nor ever to offend
Its just that on the mountain side
I can make my ammends
You see its here that I can sit and think
here that I can write
Sorry its not my intention
to push you out of sight
Dear friends I find I need to be
on a cliff above the raging sea
I find no inspiration in your mindless words
I can only write of what nature inspires

I feel like I'll never understand
The idea of one's appeal
What causes us to hate someone
And think of someone else as 'ideal'

How can we go through our lives
Making decisions every day
When we don't even understand
Why we think this way

Are we simply born this way
Programmed with our opinions
Are we traveling though our lives
Just acting as our emotion's minions

But if that if that truly is case
Then I find it very strange
How at some points in our lives
Our opinions start to change

What causes us to change
What causes this mental shift
Why is it after a certain time
Our old self starts to drift

Do our feelings ever really die?
Can our beliefs so easily sway?
And if our thoughts are what define us
Do our old selves fade away?

What happens when you can't decide
What you think is the right way
Yes, what happens then?
*Maybe we just fade away

"I should"
a solemn
voice in the head
is all grumble,
dutiful with condemnation,
a heavy
oppression.

desirous flight
is persuaded
to stay
afoot
by what
it

should:
a culturally defined, mental-
artifact, of what one supposedly
must,
oft devoid
of one can-
will, but won't,
out of fear.

doubt, like chains on dreams,
easily persuades
the mind into mundane
plains of
guilt ridden sorrows,
cut out by knives of shame,
choking the present tense
of what shall,
strapped in and unfulfilled,
hollow
and holding,
like an anchor
in a reservoir
of regretful
undertakings,
sticky with ought,
fierce like flagellation
lashing,
imprisoning visions:
victimized
      by expectations,
                negations of choice:
                             stomping on the souls good will,
                             starving the free heart,
                             shackling the mind.

operations from a place
complacent with
banality and viciousness
in some quiet take over

         some woe
of status-quo
      waging with
shaky scaffolding
   and the numbing
   dumb
        timber of nothing

a
dull aching
noise

.

enough.


  turn off:    the over beaten
      dead skull
            thumping
  with outside pressure
  

             be silent
              to hear
                            
  
there is an inner music
more in tune with life
than anything you've been told
by the force
of should
or should not.

Clouded mind full of
fear, as a smog of  poison
envelopes my dreams.

Where once its was colour
and fantasy, now coated in black
thorns, dreams touched each
poisoned and a bright place
turns to eternal darkness with
in my sleep .

I dream of the day where I don't
wake up with a scream, of the
darkness surrounding me now
tinted are my dreams. My awake
time is my safe place, I fear the
time of sleep, where there is darkness
to corrupt me while  not awake.

will it spread to my waking
dreams, will I see things not real,
how long can I hold out when
will the darkness consume my
day and night where I will
see only things of darkness
not even real.

Why am i like this?
Why is it i go wrecking every thing
I fight everyone and they still stay
Why do they do this?
Why do i do what i do when
we all know my fate is to die
off in a war in the army i enlisted
into, alone and unloved