the world is dead
but in my head
the "not good enough" still roams
the world is dead
and by a thread
my consciousness is thrown.
I see my body in the mirror
too fat, too big
too much I fear
that even when the world is dead
I won't.
I won't be enough for anyone
because I can't use a glue gun
or create a piece of which DaVinci would
approve.
I won't be enough for anyone
so **** it all, I'm flying on
the world takes time to love
time I don't have.
I look now, I am enough,
I'm adequate, ample, strong enough
to take the earth by storm
and prove my worth.
so **** it all, I'm flying on
I'm flying on.

diaphonized love
an arm to reach
out through the ivory black
needed that.
most days are spent between
the rift.
a losing battle, and a waiting game
this want.
skeletons serve as a muse
on nights and days like this.
where darkness refracts
and shadows hang like
fractals 'long the walls.
tonight I ride the high
tonight its to the bone
there is no winner here
only losers
lost minds
and found demons.

i give thanks, of a sort,
that there were waves. green oil or not.
to block the sound from my throat,
a kind of mourning bellow,
of which i held no recognition.
these walls surround
on all four sides, a valley of hurt
and prove solid enough to hold
the shaking body.
will I ever be Happy?
won't I ever be Loved?
give me back what you took
so surely, like an old possession
give me back this
capacity
to hurt.
for i feel nothing at all.

and here i go making a fool of my cards,
laughing easy, crying hard.
this fight is great, im lost again
when everywhere is all I've been.
there's nothing left to do but wait,
till all my sorrows are down the drain.
dear god, credit all where credits due
but devil, how I've danced with you.
there's not a sight i haven't seen
with you by my side through thick and thin.
these sorrows have turned me bitter and black
that fleeting joy's not coming back.
oh god, you've made me a dear friend
but the time is now, the ends the end.
my moments come to **** the dark
and you best believe ill make my mark.
and so i sit to pay my debts,
and smoke that one last cigarette.

this is a kind of pain
I cannot fix.
the gnawing, clawing night
has found an opening.
its blue-black fingers itch for
restitution of my skin I
give it what it craves so
I may sleep.
this is a kind of pain
I cannot fix.
among the grieving sighs of sleep
imprisoned in this mind to keep
the aches and pains of grief
where they should be.
this is a kind of pain
I cannot fix.

these visions come to me awake
despite a gnawing need for sleep
in tangled sheets, I lay,
writhing for a different dream.
goose-fleshed skin under her grip
a trembling chin, and stone-cold eyes
I pray to a God I cannot see
and hope it wasn’t the same as she.
the hands run along me, poking
prodding, loving, lusting and in
short moments they take their
fill, hungry mouths awaiting.
and this ugly feeling in my gut
takes hold my throat and
I fall down into this hole of mine,
the dark creates the blind and
I am blind to all I cannot see.
her outstretched hands grasp
at me for more and more and
I cannot give,
for she has taken all there is to take.

her gleaming eyes atrate in
black
reflect in them the lies I've
told
untouched blood no longer
flows in lack
blessed be her hands which
hold
the supple flesh of a corpse,
my own
with greatness she consumes me
whole
I am left with nothing but
a throne
which crumbles like dust 'round
my soul
her gleaming eyes atrate in
sorrow
with rigor and a story
tamed
from a locked door and no
tomorrow
I am now broken, with heart
un - chained