Here,
Let me cut my skin,
Let my words flow from the wound
In stinted stanzas,
Faux sentences.

I can pour it all into these,
Heart, soul,
Body, mind,
And yet my words will echo into emptiness
Meaningless shouting into an indifferent sea of voices.

These words, they've all been written
These letters, used infinitely before
So here, my friend
Let me cut my skin,
And bleed my worthless words
Into your beautiful, elaborate mind.

I'm the cold hard ground
But she is the gentle rain
That makes flowers grow

What a pesky pesky itch inspiration is,
Especially when you have no way of scratching it.

It's beautiful,
To run into someone that knows you,
Who you can't remember.

It reminds you that you exist,
Outside of your own mind.


-Hadrian Veska

Watch out for the strong willed
for conviction will inspire
yet uncompromising in nature
it will **** you when he lets you down

watch out for the tender hearted
for ideals are infectious
yet impossible to live up to
it will **** you to see her hate you

watch out for the one you love
for their influence will alter your path
yet in the end you'll want to change
and be born a better man

The purpose of dreams is to inspire -
      inspiration for direction and aim.
They are meant to become memories,
      and not to remain

                                          in vain.