Still here lost and unsure. Veins have rotted cant seem to find the cure. My soul is no longer mine, trust me I am far from fine! Looking for you to stop this nightmare, but I feel you gave up on me and dont care. The darkness has finally drowned out my light but I cant seem to die and give up the fight. Thy demons have grown past my control, where my thoughts used to be is just a black hole. Memories feel taken, I'm so cold, cant stop shaking. My walls are falling down, cant be a god forever I have found. Hell has nothing on this, it is greater then Satan could of ever wished. It is not of anything I have witnessed before, the end of everything? I am truly not sure. Am I dead? Is it all in my head? Should I give in and paint this town red? I dance with death, you swim down my trail of tears. Until I am gone and life cease, I disappear. Floating in space on this spear, trapped in time that I fear. Your moment has come! A race to the grave, trying to find the answers to a ridle that can't be solved. Give me your flesh so I can evolve into something that is dead.. and can leave this hell that your God ******* bled.. My mind is clear and I give in, go ahead and judge me for my sins..

Light illuminates the space around me                                                  
and like the branches above,
I long to touch the sun.

I let my feet sweep against the earth,
each soft blade of grass
sending a tingle up my spine.        

I relax into the tree,
releasing into the air a breath,
sharing with this moment
a piece of myself.                    

The scent of earth and moss,
like the feeling of a cool summer rain,
washes over me,
and pulls me into the realm of the in-between.

Like a child’s first snow,
the leaves fall around me.
Floating to the ground, gracefully,
as if they know the chaos that has consumed the world
is only held still in this moment.

Lying in rest position,
ready to play again
awaiting the song of emotion once more.

Ink flowing from the heart
staining the words red
as it empties onto the paper.

Carving into a blank page
as if it were stone,
picking away the surface and going ever deeper.

Playing “God” once more
as a humble human being
imagines a new world

A man at the end of the world
Lifts up his arms, and flies away.

Tenacious waves assault the mighty rock
Each one collapses in bewildered shock
Relentless army is led by capricious wind
Who cares not for troops it has to grind...

So on and on insane attack continues
Brave sacrifice becomes an old news
Unyielding castle defeats wave after wave
Contemptuous towards watery grave...

Until one day the everlasting proud rock
Falls hard in ocean in bewildered shock...

Break me and make bread.

In your head,
I'm forever alive.

You can take your road to Calgary and it won't bother me
if you take me.

Here are true lives in the lines.

We read because we need them,
even in our solitude, we choose them and after all, they give meaning to the many men who come to pray before them.

On the Richter scale, we measure five, not quite a fail but not an achievement of which we could boast.

Break me and I'll play host to the demons that ride through the night when you're at your most vulnerable.

Take me and recreate me in the image of your man, but we fake it where we can.

Because,
and that has to be the answer sworn,
the baby born
the cradle cap
the winged bat
All these to choose
rejoice and win
or reject and lose.

Sermons on the Mount in many fonts available from any encyclopaedia,
online any time
Line
Break.

On the platform of suits and ties
Waiting
For the 7:30 a.m. train to arrive
From the suburbs
To misdemeanors and indiscretions
The pockets and purses
Hiding behind zip codes pigment
All it takes is one note
Out of syncopation
Slums living inside
Brown watered lies
The base coat knows its color
Breaking the code
Fade to black

Replicas
near enough to be real,
to be real though they
need to feel right.

Listed on a website,
kissed candy floss at midnight
one day
one might be real
one could feel
the substance,
one could hear the romance.

Replica's the chance we take and
so we break our way out or in
copying.

And when we know the way to go
we make it
slow or fast,
a
replica
at last,
arriving at the place
it all began.