Animals
Left like animals
Behave like animals
The contrast between us was to great
for any astrological pattern.
The room was empty when you entered
only because you left it empty when you left.
I was nothing, felt nothing, thought of no one but myself.
I am no longer this person.

The duality of man
allows for a forceful angry mentality
While also acting virtuous.
The strongest man understands when to be violent
The weak man is impulsive and irrational
The wise man understands life is imperfect
The foolish man forces it be so
The virtuous man is overjoyed to give more than receive
The greedy man looks only to take
The duality of man, allows for a
Virtuous, gracious action with a pent-up
Rage beneath.
The duality of man echoes repetitive ancestral behaviors
The need to sacrifice in the name of a higher power

She was the vehicle that ultimately was her end.
The beginning of solemnity and sorrow.
Within him, a raging bull grunted in frustration,
as the crossroads were flashing red.
Leaving consciousness dazed,
the clowns pranced around
as the bull charged ahead.
Clowns flew, and suddenly the bull and clowns were one and the same.
It was clear, both share a death wish
With the bull left to bite the bullet.

Do I still write as well as I used to?
Is my writing as lackluster as my relationship,
Or is it eccentric beyond tradition.
Does it contain the same effervescence as those before?
Am I in a time warp, wasting away my days?
Instead of bettering myself,
Self-recognition was my blind side.
When I wrote emotionally
The words spoke of improvement,
Yet what has developed is rather disappointing.

The cross around my neck is a testament,
To remember how I have changed,
To remember the person I once was,
To become what is to be.
Not God, not religion, about myself,
To prove to myself that I must mature through the decisions I make.
To remind myself I am not as selfish as I was.
To become the person I was afraid to be.

I can't see the finish line of my growing sickness,
For you cannot leave like the rest never did.
Born into the solidarity of such an honest soul,
I left, as soon as they arrived.
As we did in our sleep, while no one watches.
A ghost within a haunted house,
Never remembered, Never forgotten.
Love is no cure, only a patch.
I imagined you leaving but how could I?
When you never arrived.

Blood Red is the color of its eyes,
when it consumes the host
controlling the actions against humanity.
Allowing the host to crave the insensitivity.
Leaving the one’s you love to bare the consequences.

Blood Red is the color of triumph.
Against every will of man
to wave the solemn flag of defeat.
As it’s essence lures the heart,
deserting the mind of any righteousness.

Blood Red is a cry for help,
as it’s victims have run dry,
against the impulse it desires.

Blood Red peaks into the soul,
fleeing the mind
as it flows through the body;
overwhelming the host on the eternal drug of following the heart,
and being a mascot for temptation.