They call us when things are bad.
When no one else can help.
When all their ways have failed.
When life is over.

They release us.
When war is inevitable.
When the enemy was won.
When all is lost.

They force us to help.
When they can't help themselves.  
When bad does more than good.
When plans fall to the ground.

They call us the bad guys.
Well we are bad.
But not evil.
We have honour among thief's.

Who are we?
The last option.
The one who are thrown under the bus.
The Suicide Squad.

Is it not truly dissapointing to watch
someone fail to live up to what you know
they are capable of?
Someone with such potential but they don't use it.

There was a pupil, and this pupil wanted to do something
everyone told him he'd fail at.
But he did it anyway, and for a brief while he felt as if he was home.
As if he had finally found life and his part in it.

He was told that he had talent, that he stood out from the rest.
Someone he greatly admired said this to him infront of his fellow pupils. He was happy.
His purpose felt firmly established.

Months later the pupil fell into a darl place, slowly losing his love
for what he thought he loved.
Lost in a world he thought he figured out, walking through a dark tunnel, looking for a place to sit rather than an exit.

He looked back on what was told to him, that he had talent.
That he was special... he realised something.
Just because someone doesn't fit in, does not mean they
special.

The pupil sat writing about his feelings, and a lite spark came back,
a spark no larger than the first morning light.
Realising what he loved will be there for him,
however he can't be there for it as not to ruin it.

There he sat
on his tamed stallion
overviewing the Ghetto,
seeing the people
shot down like dogs.
The blood spilling
all over the
black and white streets.
The red of innocence runs away,
to hide from the
Deutsche,
only to be lost in fire.

We did it, we finally really did it,
we blew it up.
The clock stops ticking as the silence of
electricity runs through it.
Monsters of industry stop at the hand
of a symbolic clock.

Conflict from the East and West
has brought Armageddon to our door.
A confident young leader of the East
and an arrogant business man of the West,
helped by a horseman of the North
have by their hand taken mankind to the stone age.

Instruments of peace are built to send a message
of hate, fear and promise of destruction.
Instruments once used in a final and unforgettable
effort for peace in sleeker times.
Not having learnt from two examples
we march onwards into Judgement Day.

The young Leader from the East now sits
scared, retreating into his power and dead vision.
The confidence now sits with the West as they
enter the East, coming to claim what they can.
The deck is played with one last final card in
the hands of the East, a regretful one.

Ten plus five places are to experience the
beginning of the end first.
The last card is played,
the last card mankind will ever play.
Metropolis goes silent in an instead,
civilization turns to somber ashes.

Words in whispers are spoken in
loss, desperation, pain and remembrance.
As the former things of the world
have passed away into ashes and particles.
A psychological hell land lays ahead as
men with sticks and stones approach.

1938

I was a free man, sitting on a porch, over looking the sunset, with a cup of coffee in my right hand and my left hand over my darling wife. My children playing in the garden, playing in the dirt.  The perfect life as I knew it .A good job, supper each night with my family, our daily prayers together, something I overlooked at the time is now something I crave.  

1944

I lift my head slowly and open my eyes to the sight of tired soldiers, crumpled together in a small aircraft. Waiting to either go home or die in battle. One soldier throws up in front of me, a gross scene that now seems so normal. The aircraft door opens and within seconds, half the soldiers, my friends are dead, blood covers the craft as I run out and see nothing but chaos and destruction. One soldier lays there on the ground, his large glasses full of dirt, he is only 19, he is screaming.  A scream that I will never forget, his holding his stomach and blood flows out like a river on the sand, his inners laying beside him, him still screaming. I look up and see a white flash in front of me.

I hear music, a gentle yet strong tune that carries me as I lean upwards and try to stand, I can't. I wipe my eyes and look. I see red sand in front of me as I can't feel my legs. My Major runs for me and looks at me with a stare of empathy, he knows, he knows i'm not going home. I've never liked to ask God for help but now I pray in silence waiting, waiting to be taken home. Not this honours but in a body bag.

If the end came today.
Not tomorrow or in 100 years.
If the end came today.

If your mom ran in and told you to pack
What would you do?
Grab the essentials and run.

You know what I'd do?
Get dressed,
Put on headphones
and play music.

The  walk outside while the world takes a ****.
And watch the other people running
And panicking.
While I let the music play.

That's what I'd do.
What would you do?

I used to rule the world,
Had dreams and hopes too.
Things worked out the way they should,
They did so as I said.

Now I sleep on the streets I owned.
Dreams behind me,
Like a fictional memory.
Killed by the comfort of time.

My future built on rocks,
Now turned to sand.
Pride came before the fall.
However the fall continues into eternary.

My love, my life
bound by mind, lust and blood
You a toxic ****
Me, a forest infested

You eat my heart out my chest
I watch you cut it out
Spice it with passion and meaning
and put it back,
clean knife marks dressing it

She touches her lips to mine
As soft as possible,
Placing her hands around my neck.
I feel the rough itch of rope
The tightness I crave
The sudden lunge down, a crack

This will get brutal, if im being honest
She whispers in my ear,
Kissing my ear lobe
Biting it off,
Leaning up, smiling
Blood running down her mouth and neck
Spitting it out

My lovers in a closet
Stuffed into bags,
the stench covered
by the smell of loyalty
My one and only
Lies in a bath of blood
Maintaining her beauty,
only for me.

Harmony and peace
is all I take away
The beauty I see
is a masterpiece at work
Art being composed
Like drinking aged whisky watching the world end
The freedom, the peace, all finality

She pears to me
The look of purity
A creature in its natural form
Bathing in its habitat
Waiting for prey,
Or a mate
Something to love, to eat...

I stand in awe
dropping my dignity
Kissing her blood soaked mouth,
blood covering my hands,
the Warmth enclosing my body
Her eyes show me a path
A path I dont want but cant resist,
I want her...

If I appeared before you in flames
Would you put them out?
Or would you feed your soul
With my burning skin
As it falls from my bones.

You'd kiss me and tell me
"I love you"
Before abandoning me alone in the dark
Left alone to be eaten by the demons you left behind
Watching it happen from your moral high ground

You are a predator playing the prey
A creature feeding on souls to feed your empty one
A horror of Lovecraftian scale,
Bringing any person to their knees in tears
Breaking them down and taking pleasure from each second

You magnetic personality drawing people in
Like lambs to the slaughter
Me a fool among many
Slowly being grinded away inch by inch
Your smile illuminating my last moments

And after being broken piece by piece
My soul pouring out of me,
Like blood from my throat
You'd cup your hands
And drink from my pain to refill your heart