The car glides through the night,
The gentle roll between rubber and tarmac
Just inches beneath my feet,
Backseat dreaming,
And as each lamp post casts its amber
Gaze upon me through the fogged up window,
I begin to wonder how they stand there,
Through darkness,
Wind,
Rain,
Scorching heat,
Bitter cold,
And yet they still shine bright,
Throwing a luminescent sublimity
For hundreds of wandering souls
To find their way home,
To trace the tarmac veins of the city
Until they are nestled in the brick red hearts
of their homes,
And I sit here, a freight train of abnormally large
Thoughts passing through my fatigued and stretched mind
Whilst I am drifting under these street lights,
When I could be curled up in bed,
Sleeping through blissful dreams or stormy nightmares,
Eyes closed until another dawn spills over the horizon,
But then it occurred to me,

*I am a creature of the night.

I remember when you found out that I had Bulimia.
You never cried, or tried to understand,
You just shouted.
You grounded me, remember?
Said I was a failure.
You made me eat forgetting I have an eating disorder.
You pretended it never happened.
I had to cure myself because you wouldn't get me help.
"No daughter of mine needs help"
"No daughter of mine is mental"
Remember when you said that dad?
Do you?

And now, I've been diagnosed with Anorexia.
And I am literally terrified that you will find out.
Because you will get angry, won't you?
Like last time, remember?
You'll force food down my throat and make me not tell anyone
All because you're ashamed with me.
Well thank you.
For making me hide my eating disorder.
I guess I'll do what I always do.
And deal with it on my own.

We don't fight against man,
but his nature,
not blood nor bone,
but against principalities,
against power,
against corruption,
against the bottom of the glass,
against human nature.

Civilization,
civilized,
man,
civilized man?

Nope.

A world of tolerance,
malice in disguise,
the pen is mightier than the sword?

Not a chance.

It is the blade that kills,
the razor that releases the flood,
for history is not written by the objective.
Words may trigger the safety,
but neither written nor spoken word,
will deflect the bullet,
ricochet will always claim its prize.
It is not great men that bring about change,
but men willing to change,
gun in hand,
sights lost in the moral periphery.
Liquidate modern ethics,
burn the fibers of morality,
enlist their disease.

Dear oppressors,
here's a secret,
the weak can **** too,
and the day will come when man does not rule,
but man is ruled,
and on that day,
**fight back.

"our existence is fractured"

his quite whispers in my ear pierce the silence that has enclosed my entire body.
my heart, a beating time bomb, slowly cracks and shatters, waiting to burst.
the sea foam walls encase us
and I
drown

today someone told
me I have beautiful
eyes--and would you
believe, that's the first
time anyone has ever
said that to me?