We fell apart
When the lights dimmed with your smile
And acid tears burnt eyes to swollen slits
You punctured truths of glass into my heart
And we fell apart.

The edge of that razor smarts. A tight pinch as it moves from hair to skin, breaking both with the ease of sin. Four blades of mighty steel glory, waging a war on the fields of my hollow cheeks. Old soldiers armed with nought but swords, old iron and ruined shields. That razor had been through a **** storm, been with me for so long. I could change it, replace its crude coarse blades, its worn and ragged handle. I could buy a machine so sleek that it would rend hair from skin and flesh from bone. But I like this grizzled construct of rough steel and chipped plastic. This ******* knew me as a stranger before he embraced me as a brother. I like him. Him and his manic chip toothed metal grin. I've got friends like him, not many still breathing but they count. Old broken things still ticking well past they're expiration date. I've got brothers in arms and brothers in caskets too. Strangers turned friends turned brethren and then dead again. I've seen too many faces fade from life to dust. It is not in god, but a razor's edge that I trust.

A vision of life is with me still
Past the holes in war torn hills
An image of hope, that will not die
Despite the tears, in my child's eye
Life persists, among a field of  death
Shallow, bleeding but still with breath
A flower once white, now bathed in red
Still lies standing, among the fallen dead
The skies are smoke, thick and hot
An inferno of battle, shells and rot
The earth is painted, in shades of brown
But where splashes of red, taint the ground
While innocence dies, the flower endures
Perfect petals wilting, to war's overtures
Yet as long as that flower, still lies dreaming
Will the hope in my heart, keep on breathing

I awake to the smell of concrete and rusted metal. Before the holes I call eyes open, the dank air embraces me. Fills my lungs like water and holds me tight as a forgotten lover. The tomb is silent but for the steady drip of water. A silent cacophony standing in stark defiance to the quiet that surrounds it. A futile display. My eyes flicker but do not open. Dark suns encased in a greater blackness. They're bountiful rays oppressed by the night that will not relinquish its hold. But a crack is made, and the dull grey of life seeps through. I am greeted by an empty hallway, forlorn and devoid of consciousness. A puddle has gathered in its centre, an odd and misshapen thing. A rustic inkblot that Rorschach would have been happy to give employ. I wondered if I could reach it through the bars. Touch it, and vicariously immerse myself in its freedom.  In its possibility. Suddenly, the grate of iron on iron filled the halls. The shriek of metal and old hinges joined the chorus, until finally, only steps remained. Calm, solemn things whose leisure exerted authority upon the air. My mind urged me to rise, but my body lacked the will to comply. Dark eyes like hungry fires greeted the stranger, dressed in fine dapper if not damp wear. His eyes were as winter, blue orbs of chipped ice. His lips formed a smile and in it betrayed their lack of sincerity. There was a violence to his gaze, an unsuppressed furry. His lips were moving, words were being spoken yet I could barely grasp a whisper. I forced myself to focus, to return from that inner retreat, and slowly, the noises of the world came back to me. His voice faded into being, a surprisingly pleasant baritone "... your arraignment is to be set a month from now, the retrial will commence shortly there after and you will be placed in a holding facility till the remainder of the trial is concluded. A noticeably finer arrangement then solitary. Any questions?"
A small part of me chuckled, the sound was hoarse, grim, more like the wheezing cough of a dying man than a laugh. He seemed to smile, a severity to the sincerity of the gesture. As if cruelty lay just beyond the border of his lips. They were moving again, morphing and contorting into different shapes. The noises they made were a blur though, fading like the sound of a car disappearing into the distance. Its slow engine purring out of existence.

Deceit, my throne
Agony, my crown
Within an ocean of tears, the silent man drowns
Pain so clear, across this grim façade
Life serene, cut so close, by this paper god
This seed of market and stock, supply and demand
The story of capitalism written by greed’s melancholy hand
A story so sad, imbued with regret
Consumerism the tragedy- heresy is debt

The moon is bright
The stars are heavy
Anchors of light
Holding steady

They breathe with the motion
Of a thousand waves
Little dots in an ocean
Swimming to forgotten graves

When sunlight rises
Over the bold horizon
Their twisted shadows burn
In shallow crisis

Wreathed in fire
Their flames die out
Like candles to a pyre
Or thirst to a drought

If I could express
In the most eloquent way
The need I suppress
To hate you every day

The Simple Alignment
Of pen on paper
A simple consignment
Of words to vapour

My god, the darkness that broils behind this grin
The dark resentment, every present within

But I digress
I smile and whittle away
Accepting the stress
That comes with every day
No matter the anger
That singes me like a lit cigar
No matter the danger
Of that burning to my heart

I smile, grin and bear it so to say
Till one day I snap, and throw it all away
Toss it to the wind, that cold bitter grey
Till its whipping envelops me
Its pressure that of an endless sea
Until the earth connects, and I cease to be
God have mercy, set me free

Oh, Agony, how sweet the sound
Of dreary tears as they pound the ground
The bitter sweet sorrow, of a breaking tomorrow
Of A Shattered Dream
Painted across the sky
In effervescent hues
Of black and grey
A seemingly endless menagerie
Of white hot thunder
Singing the madness away