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drownitout Jun 2014
Is there anyone
on the other side
of that door?
I'm in fear for my life.
it's much more than innate
it's the things I create
in the closet of my mind.
I design my friends
with big black eyes, and dark histories
and sharp teeth
and secrets.

I'm the author,
the artist,
the god,
in the realm that I hide in that's reserved in my mind.
I don't go outside
the terrors inviting, so I've convinced myself,
this is where I belong.

Just leave me alone.

This is where I belong.

I need to be alone.


*With my friends.
This is written to a song, so these are lyrics, but here.
drownitout Jun 2014
Expensive habits and defensive addicts are what engineers the user rabid,
Rapid heartbeat, zoning in and out.
Foaming at the mouth, clinging to my seat.

Shoot the family, hang the kids, frame the wife,
Any way you look at it there's always a darker side.
Are we talking lights and camera flashes or skull fractures and lacerations?
Most of my time's spent pondering once I hit the pavement,
Taste the blood. Touch the Earth. Hear the sky.
Taunt a love. Fail the search.
Lose your mind.

Face flushed, I pant and sigh, the steam just teasing my numbing sight.
Tease and tickle and ripple, slide,
The droplets slide along my skin that weeps, 'Too tight!'
Rip it off me, rip it wide,
One more line, one more line, and my chest is locking up while my teeth chatter and bite.

All I ever want is all the pleasure-
Probably the problem.
I don't want you all alive when they set down my coffin,
Coughin' up bits and pieces of blood and flesh-
drownitout Jun 2014
So all rights and homage belong to god,
But who would want this body after they've left it to rot.
I've got a wicked set of morals,
And the baggage to match,
So before he cut the call the devil stated, "What a catch."

Rip the nails from your hands and hop off the cross,
We could use the wood.
Choke down your pride you ******* product with a cost,
A martyrs blood's a wasted good.

I can't keep the plug in the jug,
At least you can keep the change.
You can have the family love,
I'd rather trade it for the chains.

Does this pain you? Is this really pain?
Does this pain you? Is this really pain?

Bottom-feeder, bottom-feeder-
The garden burns as does the seeder,
Suicide swings along the feeter on the highway to hell, but I'm a nonbeliever.
So you have your book and you've built your towers,
But does your faith constitute strength or does it make you a coward?

I've been to a hundred holy places,
Heard a thousand sermons,
But most I value all the learning that I gained from all my searching.

Certain death, it's certain death, it's what they told me would happen if I got up and left,
And sure I'm troubled, I struggle, and I'm not the best,
But I'm sure there exists better answers than this.

Because what is a life,
To be governed by some verses that we can't know are right?
And you tell me that my faith is weak,
But you ignore any options, shut me down, and just claim deceit.

I want a refund, here's my receipt, because if I must bow down to something angry at me,
Then I might as well just off myself,
I'd rather die on my feet that survive on my knees.

I say all this, not out of spite, not out of resentment, I'm not mad at life.
I'm just stating that it could be something more, something else,
Than a choice between heaven or hell.

You wanna save me? But is this really saved?
Is there something wrong with who I am? Or will this god only love me if I change?

Is that it? Am I not enough to work? It's a concept I've struggled with since birth,
And if He's there and I don't have a choice, then why won't He answer,

**I've never heard a voice.
drownitout Jun 2014
Trying to keep up with the chemical imbalance,
He brushed it off and worried more with gathered synthetic talents.
Synthetics curtain the authentic certainties,
but certainly add to the offensive burden.

Cold sweats will soak the beds where he won't sleep, just toss and turn in.
He dreads the voices in his head that keep reminding of the burning.
The phrasing suits it well, because desire is a fire and you will lose if you're to battle it.
It's the leader of an army that storm your psyche as the catalyst.

He cluttered all the cabinets,
left craters in the walls,
in search of just one more substance to get away from it all.
This only left him stranded,
Scarred from what this caused,
And they wonder how he got there,
Where stuttered screams from cellar's call.

Fingertips shake as his ego's enraged,
Fingerprints left on syringes for days,
A ****** mess has been made as he's invaded his veins,
A need to escape, I guess it's all been in vain.

The family throw's a fit, yes they're all in a rage,
Or so you'd think but they've forgotten, yes they're all in a daze.
He's stayed in there for minutes, hours, days.
Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months that met with years.
He's slain, beaten, weak, and his eyes befriended tears.

His heart skips and clatters against his rib-cage.
But its his soul that is shaken, shattered.
Where it started he was fragile, in a sense. If you remember, he wasn't aged.
Although his perspective proved too agile, he still holds innocence.
Hurts to remember, **"It's just a phase."
drownitout Jun 2014
It's like I've written volumes of reasonable responses,
But burnt the pages in the furnace of my lonely subconscious.

Being hardly conscious of what defines responsible,
I'm slacking, toying with a recent lacking sense of passion.
Another constable and I'm basket-cased,
Basking in darker masks,
because I've abandoned the single greatest answer to my asking.

There's a fine line between an open mind and empty head.
There's a long bridge between actions being taken rather than words just being said.
I'm quite the sweet talker,
Candy words from a bitter tongue tied to a head filled with resentment and a body that carries rotting lungs.
I'm quite the mediator, I can lie and you'll love me for it, but I'm sure you know the rest,
I mean, you've gambled your heart for it,
Always reading the wrong words from the right lips.

I'll have you know I'm fully aware of the damage I cause, and full of sorrow over the time you've lost.
I've done what I can,
And what I couldn't do,
I tried,
I've changed what I can,
And when I couldn't,
I would lie.

Yet you would lie there with me,
Hoping for the best when the truth is we both know in reality this is all that there is.
This is all that there ever was, yet God thought it'd be funny to play a joke instead.

This is no laughing matter, I mean look at what's come from it;
Empty cabinets, soiled carpet, and a part of me that's dead.

All the patrons called and the tablecloths gone cause of the nosebleed stains of the house favorites flaws,
The demons that I seek met the skeletons I keep to pay the rent to all the scars I let them crash inside for weeks.
And boy, are they deep.
The scars, the demons, the skeletons in my closet.
And it bleeds through me-
And it bleeds.

From blue collars in Bangkok looking to keep up,
To college dollars wasted looking for a new rush.
It's incredible, absolutely, that everything went to hell over false power;
It's a tragedy, but nothing new that it all drowned due to fine powder.

So many will claim me,
But there is no home I know.
You'll try to save me,
But out the gates I'll go.
The best way to complicate is to simply not decide;
The only way I can compensate is to burn myself alive.

It's my two cents that I'm at a loss of sentience,
And I can't feel to the touch.
Regardless of if it makes much sense;
I'm not empathic anymore.
I have a lack of emotion.
I'm morally bankrupt,
And right down to the bone marrow-
I can't feel to love.

Can I show you my scars?
May I expose what it is that has torn me apart?
We can both serve as surgeons;
Sewing slits in the uniform that once resembled skin.

Sad chords and body sores reveal false power and faint accord.
I need them both but highs nor lows are something I can afford.
drownitout Jun 2014
If I left no censor on the story,
Took the best and left the worst.
You wouldn't stand with open arms,
You'd be at a loss of words.
I'll remember what you preached on what really makes a man,
Make no amends as I admit I feel that this,
Is. The. End.

Wake up, ******* wake up, this is just the beginning

How can I parent new beginnings?
When I haven't gotten farther than my own reflection as the storyboard?
Tragic note to self, no longer suicide,
You can never truly live a life worth meaning, if you can't forgive yourself.

I wrote this for someone close to my heart,
A companion, friend, lover, one who tears me apart,
But that gives me life and a reason to live,
The future's more important than just some kid.

This isn't about me anymore, my vices, my deeds, or my circumstances.
Because the product of me is coming,
And I don't want my worldly pain to burden a pure heart,
**I guess I owe myself second chances.
drownitout Jun 2014
Tonight's my first stare into the face of a knife,
Sincerely questioning the rest of my life.
My balcony gives me security, that I could jump at any time,
It's a work of art in my dreams,
but not responsible, right?

See it's not we who we're affecting with our actions or words,
See there's no affection in a home full of hurt,
See what the product is of sharing a curse,
is perfection in a sermon, or a song, or a verse.

I'll become inspired as I sit on this couch,
'Cause down the hall I can imagine it's like the gates of Heaven,
sure to lock me out.

I searched and never found a cure to my doubt.
Maybe there was something to my Sunday morning teachers trained mouth.

Here again-
questioning the rest of my life.
I'm sorry mom, I guess I never finally got right.
Here again-
Dear dad, there's not much to say now,
I appreciate that you'll always deny,
that I never made you proud.

Dear family,
cause here that's what we call em'.
I apologize for the exposure,
like time wasted on petty problems.

People always come to me for words,
I always give the best advice, and always take the worst.

What good  is intelligence and talent if it doesn't solve our problems that are actually imagined?
No where near perfect from practice.
Reenacting crashes breaks character and my emotions react.
Even better actors expose colors.
The best are usually bad.

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