I have hid behind broken shadows, disappointed daydreams and somber reminders.

I have been bitten by the black widow of life, poisoning my veins with her venom of death.

I have been mutilated like one of Jack the Ripper's victim on the dark streets of London, left to bleed out.

I have escaped the evil smiles of Pogo the Clown that crept in my dreams as I slept at night, crying my black tears.

I have been Bound, Tied and Killed by the innocent friendly neighbor, twisted in the head by the devil himself.

I could hear the screams of the pregnant actress as the Family took her life in a blood bath, as they began their Helter Skelter.

I can not escape this Alcatraz of torture in my mind, that has been placed there by the lunatics of our time. But it is fun in this asylum.

Welcome to my padded cell.

Time cares not for your tears,
nor contemplates the weary years,
it toils with its prey inside its lair,
feasting on our pain and despair,

It cannot sooth a weeping soul,
or spirit dark as blackened coal,
it bares no comforting arms to hold,
just scorns in jest as our life's unfold.

Your little hands bruised me
Your little words scorned me
Your little knives cut me
Your little face haunts me
Your little mind scares me
Your little heart loved me
But all your little things killed me

Four long days
Festering inside
Teasing me
Breaking my pride

Attacking every atom
Counting my cost
Squeezing my energy
All day, I am lost

I can not move
You puts me in chills
Stand up dizzy
On the floor, no frills

Finally you stop
No torture no pain
You finally left me
Don't come back again

I heard my song
on the twisted radio.
It sent me on a path
that I didn't want to go.

It rang up my past
of hate and deceit.
Sad song of yesterday
gone down in defeat.

It ***** through the straw
of castrated demands.
The beat of the drum
plays in the band.

Put in my place
from every note played.
It's the last song I hear,
I don't want to stay.

Get out of my head.

**** the pain.

Oh migraine.

Hit rock bottom.
My lungs burn.
Cold steel jungle.
Never did learn.

Ink on the arm.
Stories do tell.
Life behind bars.
Sure is hell.

Many empty nights.
Lost in my dream.
One last tear.
In silence do I scream.

Walking in somber.
Bitten by tragedy.
Finding the fault.
Death of the comedy

Leaving my print.
Sad words to say.
Film on the floor.
Gone another day.

Today a flower unfurls in a distant place,
its fragrance a sweet smelling savor,
its delicate frame echoing lost beauty,
it whispers a name that can never be forgotten.

I am made of wood,
I’m never quite understood,
a clockwork spring makes me talk,
pulling my strings makes me walk,

My painted cheeks are rouged with red,
as I slump in silence upon the bed,
no one see’s and no one hears,
my jingle, jangle clockwork tears.