tachyphylaxis - tach·y·phy·lax·is (tāk'ə-fĭ-lāk'sĭs)  n.
1.    A rapidly decreasing response to pleasure following initial administration.

I didn’t know this
demon had a name.
Ugly as it is it fits,
a random mish-mash
of unpleasant sounds
and equal unpleasantness
felt.

I’ve known the *******
forever, manifest in vitamin cures
and psychological processes,
SSRI’s and stabilizers.

He attends to the end of
affectionate loving and all
the designer vacations
you've ever taken.

He is the golden handcuffs of
square foot home ownership
and his business cards are
set in silver.

To put it bluntly
his continuous presence
is intent on destruction
of any contentment.

He is all things along the way
that appear so promising at first
but never last.

Synonymous with tolerance,
antonymous with precedence,


the antagonistic leaven of all living.

If resident evil taught me anything,
It's that tourniquets stop the bleeding,
But herbs do all the healing.
Though it doesn't stop the feelings.
Everyone's paranoid, and always scheming,
As if zombies are out creeping,
Around corners and through ceilings.
Strategically placing pawns,
Laying bait, and setting traps
Until you're left feeling numb,
To the world and all its crap.
They'll beat you when you're down,
Or even if you're in the clouds,
And once you're on the ground,
Gravity slowly ***** you in,
Until you're breathing dirt,
And you're soiled by your sin.
Wishing for a sign,
To help you clear your mind,
Because you realized, it kind of tickles when you hurt,
And you'd believe all the lies, if it helped you to survive.

So where the zombies at, and can I bring my gat?
'Cause my finger has been itching, though all I do is scratch.
Revealing skin tissue, that would rather hug a trigger,
My strength isn't the issue, only worrying about ammo misuse,
And if it's you, I figure, a knife can end it quicker.
Straight to the stem, that held your mind in.

My beautiful rotting barbie,
I'll worship you,
Like that Jesus zombie.

-SLuR

I see the red sun sinking in the horizon
before my eyes the sky is burning,
the half moon shyly smiling
but it is in on her dark side
where my heart is falling.

I breathe in the scent of the evening
trying to remember the days
when I was happy only because I was living.
the soft wind wants to give me wings
but my mind is drowning
in the river running wildly next to my aching body

as the night gets darker,
my ghosts are revealing their faces,
my demons are waiting on the right side of my bed
and while the stars will dance their waltz
I will be sleeping with my fears
and let the nightmares bite again
another piece of my restless soul.

one must have chaos in oneself
to give birth to a dancing star