We tend to separate monsters and men
Simplifying and beliving that such things can't happen again
But if we could only resurrect the dead
The sole answer would be "that's what we said"

We call abhorent acts of criminals "inhuman"
Thinking cruelty only comes from ******* men
But animals never threaten holocaust or world war
And even big brother was a child before

In the sole purpose of love.
I confused a strawberry for that of a heart.
I didn't at all feel ashamed. Sharing a divine pleasure.
I allowed myself to confess everything my heart felt with this strawberry.
A fruit practical. Knowing all of life's mystery.
Plump in the way it stared.
An everyday conversation turned into something precious.
My hand becoming like a stem.
The strawberry now confusing me for one of it's own.
Sharing the same subtle silence.
Relaxed in the freedom that mistakes can and will occur but something
extraordinary can happen.
Introducing ourselves to a different us.
More tolerable.
Enjoying the gift of each others company.
Sincere in a moment of sensitivity.
Both of our cheeks blushed in red.
Sharing a deep thought that traveled it's way into purpose.
A seed ripe in the way it gushed into deep infatuation.
A mouth in need, the will to quench arising urge.
Communication in purest form.
The vine that ensues nourishment from soil colored hands.
Cleansed in warmth, devoured whole

An excellent plan
Will never be realized as such
If it is executed poorly

- Hadrian Veska

Twisted hot metal
Coiled and wound
Around thin necks
Held to the ground

Limbs malnourished
Temples concave
On all a dark symbol
Cruelly engraved

The swelling illness
Spreads with the ice
Together repaying
Our sins over twice

The sickness unending
From the stars brought down
Our final judgment
Shall be our crown

hush now hush now
don't you speak
Sammy's gonna' make sure
it don't leak
quiet now quiet now
don't you chat
snap your pretty neck
you ***** little rat
go to sleep go to sleep
what's your line
shoulda' made copies
for the news at nine
hit the road hit the road
my sweet little rose
no one ever listens
to dancers and **'s
knock em' dead knock em' dead
one two three
leave it all to Lyndon, Edgar and me

What slender strength once attainted to
reach forth, but now its feathers of life
have collected like a funeral pyre cremating
their existence to embers floating in limbo.

Her virtue swaying with every expiration,
cartilage falters dismembered from her form.
Hollow and barren. One moment of existence
still hangs on she is not yet gone.

That faithful breath falls on this day, a lonely
woeful tear leaves the nest. This inanimate effigy
now a husk of memories rings once worn now
stained. *She died standing up... she died alone...