These scars that we gain from the war
they remain for the rest of our days they never fade
these battle scars will never go away
are never going to change

Every mark that mars our smooth skin is a constant reminder,
a reminder of the pain, the loss and the hopelessness
the scars we create on our hearts
coincide with the ones inflicted upon us

Every drop of blood is a broken memory
the wind a whispered companion
the tears always the crack before the flood
and the pain always the calm before the raging storm

Change is movement and I'm stuck.
Stuck and I cannot find the words.

-s.r.pikulinski

I tried.
I tried to keep away from words.
But every now and then I find myself stealing (reading).  

Yesterday, I read:
                      The heart will find a way to reach what it loves,
                              however hard the mind tries to hinder.

Then I tried to keep away from you, too.

But every now and then I find myself stealing.

Alas! the heart found that ****** way.

Those who Dance to the Music are
considered Insane by those who cannot Hear it.

But are we not all insane?
Are we not part of the same life of sound, music and death?
Are we not all behind the same wall?

We're all insane. It's just that not everyone knows it.
Which is why they're staring at me because I'm humming.

I'm sure everyone knows they're insane but refuse to admit it.
So they stare and judge.

Probably.
Of course, we're absolutely mental.
We're mad.
All the best people are.
But the really insane ones are those who think they're normal.

Yet they send us to mental institutions.

Because they honestly don't realize . . . we all have monsters.
We stopped running from the ones under our beds, when we realized
they were inside of us.
We're all monsters.
No avoiding it.

the obvious tragedy
torment me torment me
light rain to torrent
puddle to sea
it lines up so
perfectly

these are just some
lines in place of those
I'd rather have led
up my nose
or is it lead?
oh well, who knows
there's sun draping
the flowers that grow

that is what should be
the focus now, those
flowers literally
let it resound
they reach pretty finger
into the ground
embrace the earth
let it resound

the goal is to rise far
above, the putrid petty
pushes and shoves
a pitying glance from
the woman you love
your pride, starved for
romance, worn like
a glove

it's reachable in some
context, though those
roads aren't
illuminated yet
but they lay still
tread-able and you
have able step
light your own way
illuminate yet

it's hard to convey
the meaning, of
this whole mess
feelings and things
I myself don't know
what good it brings
this whole mess
feelings and things

I have cages below me
I float above them
My antigravitational force being my belief that I am superior
U take my blade and look at the captives in my cages
It seems to be close to feeding time
They are
Afterall
Throwing themselves agaisnt my cages
So I take out my blade
Letting them feed on the drops of blood pouring down my arm
They are sated

Lityle so they know
Ther is POSION IN MY BLOOD

HA
HA
ha
ha

Two shots fired. Pop, pop Everything slows.
I can feel my heartbeat throughout my entire body, everywhere, right down to my toes.

Tell me, have you seen a bullet penetrate the skin? Rip through flesh?
I hope for your sake that your answer is no. One push and one release. Crimson liquid. Flowing fast So bright, so fresh.

Smell the iron. Its scent: rich and thick.
How would I describe it consistency? Slick.