When I do meet the gun that will not fire,
I cross the trigger that has yet to rest.
My heart yearns for the ear of a liar,
a dark cipher and gnawed gold in his breast,
as fingers ache for the truth in his eye,
gilded guiles, a world he keeps private.
In a dream he shot me sweet as a sigh
with a touch fatal as any bullet,
but dreams melt like red and blue to purple,
creating a world of passion and pain --
he is a chained ankle and an angel,
a cold-shouldered knave and soft summer rain,
     a night vision of hope and black regret:
     a misfired gun I will not forget.

Hello
Are you there?
Are you listening?
On the other side
You see
I have a problem
I am suffering
With my pain
The wound is open
It is still bleeding
My soul is hurting
It is ebbing away
In a whiskey haze
Of sleepless nights
Of tortured agony
But it never heals
This broken heart

I just can't seem to get out of my head these days,
that's why I've got a penchant for smiling, when it rains.
You don't quite see the sun when you dwell in the shade,
I've grown beyond a longing for it's warmth on my face.

Nothing's concrete, I see the grey in your white and black.
It's a paradoxical existence, much like Schrodingers' cat.
Am I dead or alive? ****, where the hell am I at that?
My thoughts zip through my head like a thousand angry gnats.

Living The Heart of Darkness things seem increasingly insane,
but I'm trapped on this twisted river, heading deep into my brain.
Maybe it's because in here, I form monsters out of pain.
To feel emotion's difficult, but monsters can be slain.