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Frank Ruland Sep 2020
more than stars are falling--
the sky is coming, too
everything i wished for
and the things i promised you

it's all crashing down
upon my crown of thorns
it's the death of all my grace
and no one's come to mourn

i know it's all my fault
i tore it down myself
behind the facade of heaven
was really just my hell

it all came crashing down
and with it, all my lies
so, once again I find myself
beneath smoldering skies
Sep 2020 · 461
Sunshine
Frank Ruland Sep 2020
They called her Sunshine
but she never liked the name
Never was a silver lining,
only forecasts of more the same

They'd tell her it was a nice day
just because the sun was out
But behind the shadows that it cast
was a sea of misery and doubt

They'd tell her to go outside--
there's a rainbow overhead
But she was brokenhearted
colorblind, & trapped inside her head

Their name for her was Sunshine,
though it felt like anything but
They would call, she would look
and all she could say was, "What?"
Frank Ruland Aug 2020
t̵h̶e̵ ̷b̴a̸t̷h̷t̷u̵b̴ ̶w̷a̴s̶ ̴f̵u̸l̸l̸
̵s̷h̴e̴ ̶c̸u̸t̷ ̸t̴h̷e̶ ̵f̷a̶u̸c̸e̸t̶ ̶o̵f̵f̴
̶n̵o̵ ̶s̶e̵n̴s̸e̷ ̵i̶n̴ ̶s̵p̷i̷l̶l̵i̶n̸g̴ ̷h̵e̵r̷ ̸s̵u̴i̷c̷i̷d̵e̴ ̷o̴u̸t̵s̷i̵d̶e̶ ̸t̴h̵e̸ ̴t̷u̶b̶
̸i̵t̸ ̴w̸a̶s̸ ̶w̵a̷r̷m̴
̷r̷e̵l̸a̶x̸i̸n̷g̷
̷p̸r̴o̵b̵a̴b̶l̴y̴ ̵t̴h̶e̷ ̴m̸o̶s̸t̸ ̵c̵o̶m̵f̴o̷r̷t̵ ̶s̶h̸e̵'̸d̷ ̶k̸n̶o̸w̷n̶ ̵i̶n̴ ̸y̷e̶a̶r̴s̴
̸b̶u̸t̴ ̷j̸u̷s̵t̷ ̸u̸n̷d̴e̸r̵ ̸t̴h̵e̷ ̶s̷k̸i̸n̵
̷s̴h̴e̸ ̷f̸e̷l̸t̸ ̶t̵h̵a̸t̵ ̷S̵I̵C̷K̶E̶N̷I̵N̷G̵ ̴s̴e̷n̷s̴a̸t̷i̵o̵n̸ ̶t̵h̶a̷t̴ ̶s̶e̷n̴t̴ ̷h̸e̵r̷ ̷s̶p̶i̶n̴e̷ ̷s̴h̸i̸v̵e̵r̴i̷n̸g̸
̷s̸h̸e̵ ̵f̸e̸l̴t̴ ̸d̷i̷s̷g̷u̷s̵t̷i̴n̵g̴
̴c̴o̴u̷l̴d̸ ̴s̵h̸e̶ ̷d̴o̵ ̷i̶t̵
̶c̷o̶u̸l̷d̵ ̶s̴h̵e̶
̵a̷f̴t̵e̸r̷ ̷a̷l̵l̵ ̵t̵h̴i̴s̵ ̷t̷i̷m̷e̵.̶
̴a̸l̸l̶ ̴t̶h̵o̸s̶e̵ ̸n̷i̶g̶h̷t̵ ̴s̴p̷e̶n̶t̷ ̶w̸i̷d̵e̶ ̸a̸w̷a̸k̸e̵
̵c̸l̶a̶w̶i̸n̵g̵ ̵h̷e̶r̸ ̶a̴r̴m̶s̶ ̸a̵n̸d̵ ̴n̵e̵c̷k̵
̴s̶h̸e̴ ̷h̸a̵d̷ ̸t̴o̵
̵i̸t̸ ̷w̸a̴s̷ ̵t̸h̴e̷ ̵o̸n̴l̶y̷ ̵w̸a̵y̴
̶t̵h̸e̷ ̵m̵e̴t̶a̸l̷ ̶r̵e̸c̴t̴a̶n̴g̴l̸e̵ ̴la̶y̷ ̷o̴n̸ ̴t̵h̸e̶ ̴e̷d̸g̵e̶ ̵o̶f̸ ̷t̸h̵e̷ ̷t̸u̷b̶
̸n̴o̷ ̷b̸i̴g̴g̷e̵r̴ ̶t̴h̵a̵n̷ ̸a̶ ̵k̶e̶y̸
̶b̶u̵t̵ ̷t̵h̸a̶t̸'̷s̵ ̸w̷h̸a̸t̷ ̴i̸t̵ ̷w̵a̸s̸
̴a̶ ̸k̴e̷y̵
̸a̸n̵d̸ ̶h̷e̴r̵ ̴s̵k̷i̶n̶ ̴w̸a̴s̶ ̷l̷o̶c̶k̶i̷n̴g̴ ̶i̵n̸ ̸e̷v̵e̵r̵y̷t̶h̴i̶n̴g̷ ̸t̵h̶a̶t̸ ̵n̶e̵e̴d̸e̴d̴ ̸e̸m̷p̴t̶y̴i̸n̶g̸ ̶o̶u̵t̸
̵s̴o̵ ̵s̶h̵e̸ ̴t̷o̶o̵k̶ ̸t̷h̴e̶ ̷r̷a̵z̴o̶r̷
̵a̵n̷d̷ ̶s̴l̸i̸d̷ ̴i̸t̸ ̵a̸g̵a̴i̵n̷s̸t̷ ̶h̷e̶r̴ ̶w̶r̸i̴s̶t̵s̷
̵a̴n̷d̸ ̸a̴l̶l̵ ̵h̶e̶r̸ ̴w̵o̶r̷r̵i̵e̸s̵ ̵e̸b̵b̷e̷d̸ ̴i̷n̵t̸o̵ ̴t̸h̵e̸ ̷w̵a̸t̸e̸r̷
̵ ̴s̵t̶e̴a̸d̸y̶ ̵t̶r̷i̴c̴k̵l̷e̷ ̵o̷f̶ ̴w̷o̶r̴d̶s̴ ̷g̴u̴s̴h̴e̴d̸ ̶f̷r̴o̸m̸ ̶h̸e̶r̷ ̷v̸e̸i̸n̵
̶e̷v̴e̶r̴y̸t̶h̸i̶n̸g̶ ̶s̵h̷e̷ ̵c̸o̷u̷l̴d̸ ̵n̴e̵v̸e̶r̴ ̸s̸a̸y̷
̴a̴l̵l̵ ̶t̵h̶e̵ ̶w̵o̵r̶d̷s̵ ̸t̸h̸e̶y̶ ̴h̸a̸d̷ ̵l̴o̶d̵g̴e̶d̶ ̷i̵n̷ ̸h̶e̵r̴ ̴t̶h̶r̶o̷a̶t̶
̵a̷l̵l̵ ̷t̸h̷e̸ ̷c̵r̴i̶e̵s̴ ̸a̸n̷d̴ ̵p̷l̷e̷a̸s̶
̸e̸v̸e̸r̸y̷t̵h̴i̸n̴g̵ ̶t̵h̸e̴y̸ ̶n̴e̴v̶e̸r̴ ̴w̷a̸n̵t̴e̴d̴ ̵t̴o̴ ̵h̷e̶a̴r̵
̶t̴h̸e̶y̵'̷d̷ ̵h̶e̸a̸r̷ ̷n̷o̶w̴
̵w̷h̶a̵t̴ ̸w̵a̵s̷ ̴o̸n̸c̷e̸ ̴s̵i̴l̶e̵n̴c̵e̷
̸w̷a̷s̸ ̸n̸o̷w̴ ̶s̴a̶n̶g̷u̵i̴n̴e̷ ̴s̴t̶a̷t̴i̸c̴
̶"̵I̶t̸'̴s̸ ̶o̶k̸a̷y̶,̷"̴ ̶s̵a̸i̸d̸ ̶h̷e̷r̶ ̶w̷r̵i̸s̴t̴
̶a̵s̸ ̴h̷e̶r̷ ̵e̸y̸e̶s̷ ̴b̶e̸g̸a̸n̷ ̴t̴o̸ ̸g̴e̶t̵ ̸h̴e̷a̵v̶y̴,̵ ̷h̷e̷r̴ ̴w̸o̶u̷n̴d̶ ̵f̴o̷r̵m̶i̵n̸g̸ ̸a̶ ̴m̶o̷u̶t̵h̵ ̷f̸o̵r̷ ̵i̶t̷ ̶t̷o̸ ̶s̵p̵e̷a̴k̵
̵"̷"̵j̴u̴s̵t̸ ̷l̷e̵t̶ ̵m̴e̶ ̸d̵o̵ ̸t̶h̴e̵ ̵t̵a̶l̵k̷i̶n̷g̶.̵"̶
Frank Ruland Aug 2020
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Ӌҽʂ,
𝕔𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕒 𝕗𝕝𝕪
₳₦Đ
ɾҽαԃყ ƚσ die
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ƧΉΣ DIDП'Ƭ ΣVΣП KПӨЩ
she'd been stuck
հҽ ҍօմղժ հҽɾ մք
ɬɧɛŋ ʄơཞƈɛɖ ɧɛཞ ɬơ ʄųcƙ
][
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ˢʰᵉ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗ ⁱᵗ ʷᵃˢ ᵒᵛᵉʳ
ɹǝpıds ɐ sɐʍ ǝɥ 'ʇnq
𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐥𝐞
₳₦Đ ₴ⱧØVɆĐ VɆ₦Ø₥ ł₦₴łĐɆ ⱧɆⱤ
][
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Frank Ruland Aug 2020
what are you waiting for
it's almost here
it's almost time
can you feel it
like splinters under your fingernails
did you leave your door open a crack?
last night
just a crack
almost
could you see it
when your vision blurs
staring into a mirror
your face
your face?
no
your eyes sink in
black holes
for it to see through
through the crack
don't blink
don't worry
just wait
is it quiet?
can you hear that
scraping the rug
don't worry
it's almost time
almost
Aug 2020 · 91
bourbon & black
Frank Ruland Aug 2020
a shot of bourbon
chased by one more
did it even burn?
i can't be sure

she's crying again
because of me
she's cutting open
her heart, to be

i wasn't like this--
i used to be clean
now i'm disgusting
but that's all she's seen

it's all going black
it's coming undone
she closes her eyes
and throttles the gun

did it even burn?
there's no coming back
now all that's left
is bourbon & black
Apr 2019 · 597
S.O.S.
Frank Ruland Apr 2019
It sounds like distant thunder,
it feels like a winter's worth of hail
It's the boom of being driven under,
while your heart pleads for you to bail.

I'll go down with the 'ship--
I want you to have the lifeboat
It's time I meet my watry crypt
and for you to find your crossroad

Stay warm, hold true and look north;
find the star which shines brightest
I wish you everything you've hoped for,
beneath skies calm and quiet.

I'll wait to send an S.O.S.
so I can think of why I'm sinking
But it was always you, I confess--
of whom my heart was thinking.
Apr 2019 · 441
im doing fine
Frank Ruland Apr 2019
My bills went up and the sky's falling down. The preacher just said to get the f--k outta town. It's the end of the world--the end of the line. But hey man, yeah, I'm doing just fine. The rain, it is pouring and Grandpa stopped snoring. The doctor said it was a heart attack but he didn't feel nothing. Grandma got life insurance so I guess that's something. I sat in bed with a revolver for a few hours. Wasn't gonna **** myself, just felt a little sour. I feel like the weight of the world is on my f-----g shoulders, and this heart of mine just keeps getting colder. You could say I f----d up a few things, but God d--n if I wasn't flying with a pair of broken wings. I know I'm not perfect, I never really was. Maybe it's cuz I spent too long tryna get a f-----g buzz. You see the beer helps me to cope--manage all my time. I wake up f----d up, but I'm doing just fine. I guess that's the end, I'll just go to bed. Maybe some.sleep will help fix my head.
Mar 2019 · 329
Kill the Weatherman
Frank Ruland Mar 2019
**** the weatherman
I swear he's in control
Here, it rains everyday
and the wind chills your soul

Here comes another low
rolling in from nowhere
He's laying out the forecast
for a storm you can't prepare

The clock is ticking down
as the clouds bury Orion's star
He stole away the northern lights
and God knows we won't get far

It's the ******* weatherman--
we need to get to higher ground
Here, the weather doesn't change
and we just wait to drown
Mar 2019 · 357
when it rains
Frank Ruland Mar 2019
the birds, they stop singing
they've all flown away
no music for her
as the skies turn gray
just the constant pitter patter
when it starts to rain

she's not sad, she's not crying
never brings an umbrella
she's not cold (she's not lying)
never needs a jacket
she's just a little tired
when it rains

the sun, it stops shining
it hides itself away
no sunshine for her
as the skies turn gray
just that sudden chill
as it starts to rain

she's not sad, she's not crying
never brings an umbrella
she's not cold (she's not lying)
never needs a jacket
she's just a little tired
when it rains

her smile, it used to show
but now tears mix with rain
and you'd never know
she's almost numb, misses the pain
so she goes outside
to feel something
to feel something other than tears
as it starts to rain

she said, "i'm not crying,
don't need no umbrella.
i'm not cold, i'm not lying
don't need no jacket
i'm just a little tired
when it starts to
I love you, Christina. I'm sorry it rains as often as it does. I'll wait with you till the sun comes out. I'll wait till your smile comes back
Frank Ruland Feb 2019
it was easy
the only hard part was yesterday
over in an instant
like a star being born
then fizzing out
she felt nothing
never had
it was easy
the crimson blossom looked
almost like a rose
beautiful
almost
problems do have solutions
bang
some solutions just require
a bit less effort
than what caused the problem
a bit less
it was easy
beautiful
she felt nothing
the only hard part
yesterday
Feb 2019 · 286
Webs
Frank Ruland Feb 2019
"Webs"

Oh, how tangled are the wicked webs we weave. So caught up in our hunger from the heart upon our sleeve. Our webs are strung from selfishness and we prey upon the flies who are only here to grieve. Webs so tangled that neither spider nor fly can ever leave. How you hung me here just to feed is something I could not believe. But one day soon you will wind up ensnared in the woefulness you weave.
An oldie I wrote awhile back ago. About no one in particular.
Oct 2018 · 643
wayward
Frank Ruland Oct 2018
It's the way the wind blows
How we feel it on our face
as it strips petals from a rose

It's the way the stars fall
Casting wishes before the crash
but never thanking them at all

It's the way time ticks by
Like a finger on the trigger
before you've even said goodbye

It's the way we close a book
Once we reach the end, it's different
and so is the way we look
Haven't posted in ages. Being a single father will take a toll on you. Thankfully I have a wonderful girlfriend now who is there for me and makes me feel happier than I have in ages. Thank you Christina
Aug 2018 · 850
uʍop pɐǝɥ
Frank Ruland Aug 2018
i keep hope at arm's length,
cuz i wanna lie on the ground
it's days like this it falls away
as i keep on with my uʍop pɐǝɥ

where are the stars, my friend?
i could use that wish tonight
where did we lose our way--
why's it all black-and-white?

can't say i feel much at all
when everyday i can't be sure
i'd like to think it's under wrap,
but s'worromot let me poʍu, before

i'll just sit here, like i always do
wondering when i can close my eyes
until then, i'll keep my uʍop pɐǝɥ
as hope sits here by my side
Feb 2018 · 733
Ms. Narcissistic (song)
Frank Ruland Feb 2018
Whoa there, Ms. Narcissistic
ya gotta wait a minute
Slow your roll--get comfortable
S-s-she say she gonna call my bluff,
but b-b-baby you know I love it rough
Secrets hiding even though we was confiding

That girl give no satisfaction!
Right or wrong you'll never hear it--
her icy heart ain't got no traction
Cold and calculating
her math cut you into fractions,
but her work she'll never show

You think you know someone
but they just a loaded gun
Pull the trigger--the hole get bigger
She claim that she the v-v-victim
when the po-po show ya know she tricked em
Ya get arrested and she think she bested

That girl give no satisfaction!
Right or wrong you'll never hear it--
her icy heart ain't got no traction
Cold and calculating
her math cut you into fractions,
If she cared you'll never know

She kept close but just gets closer
but frenemy another word for poser
Ya can't spell 'friend" without the  "end"
S-s-sweetheart where'd we go wrong
Can't we just g-g-get along?
I must confess I tried my best

But that girl give no satisfaction!
Right or wrong you'll never hear it--
her icy heart ain't got no traction
Cold and calculating
her math cut you into fractions,
But all your friends get the satisfaction
cuz all you'll hear is "I t-t-told ya so!"
Frank Ruland Jan 2018
I walk a lonely road, the only road that I have ever known

I stopped keeping track of time
somewhere between "goodbye,"
and where we crossed that line


Don't know where it goes, but it's home to me and I walk alone

Everytime, misled--
you'd leave me stranded
and just left for dead


I walk this empty street on the Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Here, hope just lies around
I think I'll drink this *****
and smash the bottle on the ground



I'm walking down the line that divides me somewhere in my mind

Some days life just *****
Then some are fine,
but most I don't give a £u¢k


Read between the lines--what's £u¢k€d up and everything's alright

******* to the sky,
cuz I'm stuck between wondering how
and knowing full well why


Check my vital signs and know I'm still alive and I walk alone*

I'll walk till I hit a dead end
then I'll sit awhile
I'll sit awhile
Just awhile
Oh, just until
I know you're not coming, my old friend
Bringing back my "lyrical likeness" style poetry. I break down song lyrics and reimagine them to develop an extra dimension.

Words in bold are lyrics to Green Day's 'Boulevard of Broken Dreams.'

Italicized words are mine.
Jan 2018 · 491
you
Frank Ruland Jan 2018
you
a hundred mouths a hundred lies
a hundred hands a hundred knives
stab my back, then step aside
'cuz there's ninety-nine more in line

bless our souls and praise the sun
bleach our souls for what we've done
don't think you're having all the fun
you know me--i hate everyone

i need something real, i want something true
what else is there in this world full of you?
i need to feel, i want some sort of clue
but there's nothing left except for you

except for you

Except for you

**EXCEPT FOR YOU
Jan 2018 · 463
dirge
Frank Ruland Jan 2018
watch 'em fall in line--
each shadow, every time
the same old silhouette
god, how could i forget?

when the moon hangs overhead
the gallows get painted red
white knuckle nooses
and telltale bruises

disappointment and sorrow
for the husks--for the hollow
let us lie, and should we sleep
just dig a hole six feet deep
Nov 2017 · 466
Hate 99
Frank Ruland Nov 2017
The war is inside me, the hate is external. When I open my eyes, I see fires, infernal. You were always the angel, I was forever the Devil. But now it is over, save for the sulphur. I'll go back to Hell with nothing to show for. This was a waste of my time, but at least I am stronger. I'll take my leave, it always felt wrong here. Find your way back to Heaven--I won't shed a tear.
Nov 2017 · 354
fork
Frank Ruland Nov 2017
a road only forks
depending which way you're headed;
we met where two paths convened
and now i regret it
Nov 2017 · 394
end of the line
Frank Ruland Nov 2017
The axe, it will fall--
these hearts, they will ache
For when these words leave my lips,
your hold, they will break

We've reached the end of the line--
we found our way to the gallows
where friends are bloated with lies,
and the graves, they are shallow

What a waste of good rope--
oh, how I dirtied my *****,
but you made a deal with the Devil
and there's a price to be paid
Been a long time since I poated... you could say a lot's happened. A thank you to all my followers.
May 2017 · 530
soon
Frank Ruland May 2017
until
the cracks in this road are filled
with our little nothings
i"ll still
keep missing you, forever
and always will mean something

hold on
i promise it won't be long
behind those moonlit curtains
lies our stage--live & unscripted
this, my love, i'm ceriain

yes, soon
this eclipse of sun and moon
will pass, and at long last
our future will eclipse the past
yes, soon...

yes... soon

yes, soon

Let me keep you here, Forever
(For as long as we can remember)
All I ask is that you trust me
(Let us be all that we can be)
I swear that if you close your eyes
(Just try and close those hazel eyes)
Tomorrow will come sooner than you think
(Our dreams lie just beyond the brink)
adreishka
Apr 2017 · 700
the black sermon, pt. vi
Frank Ruland Apr 2017
my Flock, we may shun the lepers for their festering boils, but shunned are we for the asymptomatic diseases plaguing the lowest common denominator of this mortal coil. for inside we all hide a parasite that bides its time as we live lives doomed to complete systematic failure, with health and wellness masked with pride. it is no remedy nor consolation, but i advise you not confide in any  one for i assure you their heart and mind is wired to lie and ostracize as they cried they tried. you will be abandoned, and you will be let down. but in all fairness, it's only human nature  to leave others behind. it's survival of the fittest and those that witness survival will testify that taking on another is to take on their sickness. and in a world emerged in the urge to purge the weak, the strong will do what it takes to see a seventh day of rest. even if it means spending monday through saturday beating us to death
part six of my life philosophy
Mar 2017 · 582
the black sermon, pt. V
Frank Ruland Mar 2017
indeed, there is a LEGION* amongst us yearning to pillage our pockets and sequester our souls, but before we go about placing the blame on **** and jane, or even abel and cain--let us think back to where this sickly, cynical cycle of sin and shame started. God created everything in its entirety, and speak of the DEVIL, Lucifer came to love his father, but in the end was cast to Hell where he was the first to ever be brokenhearted. for those of you who don't know the story, our friend Lucy loved God in all his jealous, wrathful glory. but when God made us we were obviously made in His image and therefore imperfect, because when Lucy couldn't love us more than Him, daddy dearest grounded him forever. we are made to think Lucy is the bad guy, but his only crime was loving too much and wanting too little. see, God's the jealous type, but i'm led to believe he's also polyamorous. and those relationships just never work, let's be honest. i could go on, but I digress. see, Lucy was punished for doing what he himself was created to do. call it a design flaw, but can we not relate, because back to us on earth, we punish others with a wrath like no other. and it always comes down the original daddy issue.... never the mother. the moral of the story, my Flock is that we are god-complexes amongst broken angels who smite those worshipping the golden ox. while we praise the ******, who behind our back get on their knees and start ******* souls. and in our wake, we leave nothing but ghosts. so, the next time you find yourself alone after turning someone's wife salty, you had cast your true love down in Hell to roast. and maybe you forgot, but it was a devil who loved you most.
Love. Who needs it?
Mar 2017 · 469
the black sermon, pt. IV
Frank Ruland Mar 2017
i*n a nation where your two cents cost more to make than the time you take you shake them from your purse and shove them down someone's throat, i say think twice before you leave them with someone else's debt. that's all opinions are anyway, or so i'd care to bet. nothing but impressions left upon us by people and places in time who wound up not being the dime. break out your checking books, follks, because know it or not, there's many more panhandlers out there who'll leave you in the red than friends who'll put you in the black. that's not cynicism speaking--it's an overdraft notice. and if you've ever wondered why they say, "give until it hurts," it's because that last ounce of pride and dollar in your wallet will never hold their worth. so, either hold onto that imminent nothingness or pass it onto the collection plate.
part four of my life philosophy.
Mar 2017 · 723
the black sermon, pt. III
Frank Ruland Mar 2017
where does self-preservation begin and commitment end? and to what means are we limited in maintaining both? surely, a man who doesn't preserve himself has no hopes of preserving anything beyond his long-awaited solitude six feet down in his sunday outfit. let he who is without sin cast the first stone, and let he who has a job to do charge $5 for it. the reality is: this mentality has given rise to a culture where we suffer in silence for two hours in god-awful wooden pews so that we can walk it off later on as the women point fingers at the ****** and the men sit at their computers wondering if they're more in the mood for fantasy football or something *******. the hypocrisy never ends--oh, how i hate it.
Part three of my life philosophy.
Mar 2017 · 528
the black sermon, pt. II
Frank Ruland Mar 2017
bellies full and gullets flush, upon you, my Flock, falls a hallowed hush. understand, it is not the emptiness of a feast you crave, nor the fulfillment of stale bread and a sip of sanguine salvation. see, communion isn't about communing so much as it is about commitment. commitment: the forgotten ancestor of love and why we find ourselves twice bitten. and nothing says, "commitment" like supper with a dozen of your confidants.
part two of my own life philosophy
Mar 2017 · 655
the black sermon, pt. I
Frank Ruland Mar 2017
my Flock, welcome and goodbye, for today we ourselves will taste the forbidden fruit and come to know the gospel eden's serphent yearned to preach. we are a starved people whom hunger for more than the leftovers within our shackle's reach. this is the black sermon that for many sound like heresy, and forgive rhyme and reason, but to its own...     you're each. [SIC]kles are the tools of the hungry, but hunger is the tool of a wise man.
The first installment of an epic monologue which my brain has toiled over for the last year of my life. It is not religious nor is is about race. the black sermon is my own personal life philosophy and I genuinely hope you groove with my unfiltered cynicism.
Mar 2017 · 842
gravity
Frank Ruland Mar 2017
overhead, a full moon looms--
the cycle's renewed all so soon
pale reflections in my sea's low tides;
waters drawn out to a cold, night sky

pulled away... pulled towards you:
pulled towards a moon sunken, blue
a sight for sore eyes, or sign of the times?
gravity, to pull me in, but never bind

for the moon leaves orbit tomorrow night;
with it, its reflection and ocean's might
the waves return, again, to forlorn shores
where high tide drowns me, just once more
Been a good long time since I posted... enjoy. Or don't.
Nov 2016 · 904
Venom
Frank Ruland Nov 2016
It shouldn't be so easy
All it took was one bite;
she felt nothing
but a kiss
So easy
She spent too much time
looking to see if its pupils were
circles or slits
Too much time

Venom ebbed into her veins
Volition was quickly violated
Her strength waned
Circles or slits?
as reality broke down into
an unrecognizable pile of pulp
Violated
Blood streamed from her orifices
Unrecognizable pulp
Her heart spiraled out of
control as death called
Venom

She grew pale,
cold
felt nothing
But what's sad
It shouldn't be
It wouldn't consume her
It just watched
So easy
as venom ravaged her insides
It's incredible how alive she looks
So alive
Jun 2016 · 651
More
Frank Ruland Jun 2016
Everybody's saying what doesn't **** you just makes you strong. I'm already bulletproof, so with a few more attacks I'll be invincible--keep bringing it on! I've got a spine of steel from all these knives in my back. This fearlessness, my common sense, keeping promises; they're all things that you lack. I like how you talk crap while my head is turned, but I love learning the hard way and the way that it burns. The judge, jury and executioner are one in the same, but court is adjourned. The verdict is is I'm guilty of fighting the world on a dare. But that's the way it has to be, because for the world the fight isn't fair. I've got too many demons pent up inside. If you're more talk than walk, you should just run and hide. You've met the man, now meet the monster that you helped create. Feed me all your lies, venom and hate. I'm a ***** for more, a *******, so don't make me wait. I pull no punches, I don't do low blows, but I love to tempt fate. Lady Luck's an ex but she still wants to ***** me. She calls me up and says, "Let's talk over coffee," Bad relationships are all that I've known. I get treated like a dog, yet they won't throw me a bone. But it's all good, because I stand alone. Take your crutches, your Helping hand--I'm a rolling stone. I gather no moss; neither will my tomb. Make **** sure my epitaph says, "I learned how to run through Hell before I crawled, straight from the womb;" Stand with me and we'll fight, stand behind me and I'll protect, but if you stand against me, then prepare for your doom. And if I should should go down, I swear you're going, too! I've got nine lives, so as you greet the devil, I'll bid him adieu. Now, get out of my face--I've got things to do.
May 2016 · 764
Outer Space (Inner Void)
Frank Ruland May 2016
the*  sun  was  in  my  eyes;
the  moon  p­ulled  upon  my  heart
somewhere  in  between
­an  eclipse  tore  it  all  *apart
Apr 2016 · 777
Something from the Heart
Frank Ruland Apr 2016
.     For so long, I've been searching for something i could only know through feeling. Something nameless, shapeless and timeless. It has eluded me down through the ages. It knows no owner, no pedestal, no clandestine inheritance or cages. The thing of which I speak, knows only it is searched for. But it does not purposefully hide, camouflage itself or disappear. Nor can it be beckoned by any beacon, prayer, or call to come here.
      So I searched for the Something amidst the seven seas. I delved down through the darkness, past shipwrecks, sunken treasures, and the endless, otherworldly, beautiful reefs. I found nothing there, save a thousand kingdoms' lost fortunes. I found the unstoppable Titanic, claimed by an immovable Iceberg  in the ocean.
     So I searched for the Something in the ruins of El Dorado. There, I made a trek through barren streets paved with golden bricks. Buildings the size of mansions, statues depicting forgotten gods, and a treasure trove barred by quicksand, traps and tricks. I gazed upon the remains of a massive ark, a chalice encrusted with massive diamonds, and a Hero's sword entrapped within a rock. I shook my head and sighed, fearing the thing I sought was lost.
     I sat by myself in the deepest contemplation. Where was this Something that enraptured my imagination? I had searched the world over, at least a dozen times. I had asked witch doctors, hermits, kings and gypsies who spoke in rhymes. Yet, I was no where closer to finding this Something that eluded me. By myself in the heaviest of silence, I took your picture out and stared in hot defiance. I'd find this thing we needed to put things back together. I'd find this ancient relic if it took me all of forever.
     Just then, a tear ran down my cheek which reminded me of the ocean. There, inside, lingered a spark which put my thoughts in motion. It slowly crept down my cheek, and made its way down to my chin. It fell upon the golden ring you gifted gifted me, which took away my wind. I sat speechless as I looked upon the ring which reminded me of a City of Gold. Memories flooded into my head, warming a soul which had grown cold. Suddenly, from nowhere, I found the thing which I had thought never to be found... It had been buried deep inside me; waiting for me to come around. Love, all along had been the missing part. It was never Something from the sea, nor Something from a city made of gold... All along, it was Something from the heart
A poetry prose/stream-of-consciousness I put a lot of heart into...
Apr 2016 · 832
Gotta Move On
Frank Ruland Apr 2016
Spare no more sand on yesterday
Close my eyes - have the ghosts gone away?
Open my hands - gaze at what remains
Heartache, and the tears I weep,
so I'll dig a grave six feet deep
Exhale, and embrace the flames
I know I'll be okay

In my mind, I've gotta move on
Can't remember just why I came -
these memories are all but gone
Can't forget the face, but the name
is but a bitter note on my tongue

I swim to shore; the tides drag me out
I scream "No more," as I drown in doubt;
again, ignored - I've lost count
My voice, my thoughts, my heart - my God
your logic--your lies--are all flawed!
Ill be strong, but I'll never be proud
when the curtains close; take my bow

In my core, I've gotta move on
Can't remember just who's to blame
but someway, somehow, I'm wrong
Can't forget or shed this shame
Hellfire, to which this moth is drawn

We've reached the point of no return;
the point of which I've failed to learn
Either myself or this bridge will burn
Devil be ******, but this I swear:
I'd sooner die then have another second spared
It's your fault my heart is spurned -
this codependency must be purged

In my soul, I gotta move on
No enemies, but you're not my friend;
hold back the day - the line's been drawn
I knew there'd come a time when
I was forced to be strong
A song
Mar 2016 · 748
hollow is the heart
Frank Ruland Mar 2016
moonless is the night;
there's just no end in sight
this cynic's soul is sickly cyclical
soulrise to starset, a sin so critical
even a heretic can't look past
this devil's met his match

foolish is the man
who prays after he's been ******
if only i had listened
i might've saw what i was missing
common sense is not so common
sinners rise while i have fallen

hollow is the heart;
it was empty from the start
catharsis, it's for the broken hearted,
i'm just back to where I started
you take what's yours, i'll take mine
and this nothingness will be just fine
Mar 2016 · 902
the devil's anthem
Frank Ruland Mar 2016
It's nowhere but down from here on out
when it's all up in flames; we're drowning in doubt
Blood starts to boil; bones brokes with blisters
Have you seen my angel? I must've just missed her
Wolves in the fold - the sheep are all slaughtered
Beware the liars - HELL ONLY GETS HOTTER

I am the man you don't understand;
another heathen you just can't believe in
Fallacy and friend, designed by your hand;
now I'm condemned to a perpetual end
If only you could save me, I'd rather be ******

When 1 + 1 is simply not enough
bring it to a halt, and just let me off
The road is long,  and the going's rough
so I'll go my own way. I'll see you one day
where all paths convene when life is snuffed

The plan is perplexing, yet simply sadistic:
To get to Heaven, you must go through Hell
The cost was my soul, cuz I've no *** to **** in
Then when you get there, it's the size of a cell
Welcome to Forever - I wish I just would've listened

If only you could save me, I'd rather be ******....

You want a god, but I'm just a man...

It all went to Hell, just as I planned....

**If only you could save me, I'd rather be ******
Mar 2016 · 937
A Moment's Recollections
Frank Ruland Mar 2016
Yesterday, the friend I've never known
for she comes and goes
before the sun warms* these bitter bones
I've only seen her in my dreams
beneath the blue moon  cutting through
a thousand red and raging
streams
sweeping me away without hesitation
Glimpse her face, in a moment's recollections

Faces, hatred, temptations tasted-
how sweet the heated present;

how acrid the aftertaste of time wasted
Music, madness, love's essence casted-
ivory statues and ephemeral infinities;
the most humble Heaven, while it lasted
Perfection, capsulized--a sudden revocation;
a future alluded within a moment's recollections

Only in darkness do we know braveness-
men, women, children... Their huddled masses
clamoring amidst the night--what waywardness
Feeling with their fingers, not their souls;
listening to e'ry passerby, but not themselves
They leave themselves behind, so they grow cold
Disparaged by a detour's disconnection,
as they turn a blind eye to their moment's recollections

The echo of a truth resonates within our hearts,
pleading to be heard, amidst the static
of a world of wholes, and forgotten parts
Close your eyes and let night flow through
your unconscious mind, as it's unlocked
by the good graces our yesterdays imbue
May we find our friend again amidst introspection,
and what we've forgotten in a *moment's recollections
Mar 2016 · 662
i, damned
Frank Ruland Mar 2016
i've lived a thousand deaths;
     been to Hell and back again
there's no forgetting those lowly depths
      hollow and alone-
so hard to catch my breath
     dragged down below
cannot seem to find my head
     has it been carried down the river
they created when my wrists were bled?
     hollow and alone
the soul i sold could not undo the debt
     save me from another life
these demands cannot be met
     once, I knew heaven, but now--i, ******
just as i remember, i forget
     hollow and alone
just as i remember, i forget
Mar 2016 · 855
Attrocity
Frank Ruland Mar 2016
She has the face of an angel;
     the eyes of a snake
You'll fall for her smile,
     but it's all so fake
You may fall in love if you
     don't first fall in hate

She has the hands of seamstress,
     the touch of a thief
She'll sew you together;
     you won't want to leave
A puppeteer; once she cuts a thread you
     feel nothing but grief

She has the voice of a siren;
     the lips of Judas
Promises spew from her mouth --
     verbal illusions
She speaks of Heaven, but was cast down
     Try to see through this

She cries the tears of lover; she's got
     the heart of a *****
She's a liar, a temptress, a manipulator ;
     I've see it before
I didn't learn my lesson, so now my heart's lost to
    the spoils of war
Mar 2016 · 957
An "L" Most Convenient
Frank Ruland Mar 2016
Love binds us

     *LOVE BINDS US ALL


Love blinds us

     *LOVE *BLINDS US ALL
Frank Ruland Mar 2016
.     Take tomorrow with you, and every day thereafter. Another story is discontinued well before the final chapter. Another Heaven gone to Hell; I'm stranded amidst the Rapture. You were supposed to take me with you, but now I see where we stand--lies and truths divided. The sands of time slip through my hands, as well as love once confided.
     Take tomorrow with you, because it's filled with ghosts. Hollowed hopes and wasted years, in which I'd become engrossed. All my heart and soul was invested in the end, only to find the beginning was pretend. I had expected the most humble everythings, to come away with nihilistic nothingness instead.
     Take tomorrow with you, but leave today for me. I'll take what's mine, you take what's yours, and we'll leave what's compromised behind. I want only what I can feel is real, for the things I believed were whole were empty chasms, concealed. I want today for myself, because with every sunset, you'll be that much farther. So, just take tomorrow--it's not worth the bother. But if you could leave today with me, because I want a life, unchartered.
Mar 2016 · 751
Anti-Love Poem
Frank Ruland Mar 2016
When all that remains
     is yesterday's pains
You're left with a debt
     which can't be repaid
Claimed by the ruins
     of my plans, best laid

I owed you nothing,
     yet gave you my all
My heart and my word;
     but you had the gall
to lay out your lies -
     on my face I fall

Taken back by what I only imagined -
     revocation of now egregious elations
Struck down, then promptly suspended
     amidst the calamity of stark realizations
The long haul - my downfall, now I stall;
     stuck in the Hell of a *****'s inclinations
    
"Everything happens for a reason,"
     on the wall, it is written
Your plot was so simply sadistic,
     but the point, I must have just missed it
A shooting star falls upon your head,
     to have me wish you never existed
Loosely based off the rhythm to I Prevail's sing "Love, Lust and Liars"
Feb 2016 · 723
Sober
Frank Ruland Feb 2016
I swear there were good times;
I remember being high on life
No "what-if's," no withdrawals
of my nerves getting tight
I always felt darkness,
but I always knew there was light

I've been sober for all of twelve days,
and an unforgiving two nights
Now, when I find myself home at last
i can't get by on life's heights
I look to the bottom of many a bottle,
if not only to salvage a dying man's plight

It's hard to feel fine in your skin
when heart and mind don't convene
Two separate paths--one hard road home;
a trail of tears to show where I've been
I know that I've been sober,
and I hope one day, I get it right again
Feb 2016 · 586
Back to the Drawing Board
Frank Ruland Feb 2016
Once again my plan has failed and I'm left staring at inspiration up in flames. I laid out so many careful chalk outlines, but I'm besieged by rain and it all goes down the drain. My diligence turned dangerous and my patience was hunger; the egg wound up on my face. I had placed my faith in you, only to have it all erased. I have failed to learn my lesson regarding including people in my plans. The lies, the betrayal, the insults--all variables I can't hope to understand. My algorithm was altruistic, but my calculations were all flawed. The names and the numbers--I've never felt number, nor could I have been much dumber to believe this would all work out. I foolishly rationalized hesitations in another moment of my doubt. Was it you ******* me, or I ******* you? I suppose we'll never know, and this uncertainty is my cue. All I know is that it's back to the drawing board, because you and I are through
Jan 2016 · 1.0k
What A Wonderful Life
Frank Ruland Jan 2016
Never did I imagine myself sitting on an observation table in front of a one-way mirror, looking into my eyes while somebody is undoubtedly doing the same. However, I'm certain they don't see anything close to what I do. Beyond these "windows to my soul," lies a mausoleum where my sanity has been laid to rest. Typically I hate being stared at, but I am calmed by the steady, constant hum of the florescent lights above. It's nice to know that in a world of chaos and uncertainty, I can rely on something as simple as light fixtures to reassure me that not everything is madness. I can only hope that the florescent bulb in my head maintains its steady flicker, and not go out completely. THe shaddd  ows it casTS have Ben mmmy l-only frENDS 4 so lllooonnnggg, but they are no stubSTItute for you, my Love is SO overrated, don't you think, folks? Well, have I an offer for you! For only the the low, low price of your amygdala, we can scramble the pesky part of your brain that hurts you the most with a shiny, surgical drill! Isn't madness wonderf--
     I shake my head as my hallucinations break away from me, dissipating into thin air like so many real things in life. Things and people I thought were real, anyhow. It hard to be certain what reality consists of nowadays when what's most dear to you becomes another negative on the number line of my life. Please, divide me by zero so I may be one with the rest of my life's errors in the infinity known as Purgatory. Eye deadn't know REALity was so   f  a  r   from Beezl---beaten-- er, BEING real. What s there 2 rHEALly be cHURTIN of in a place where my Angel left me to burn in HELLO operator, give me number nine. My wrists are being bled, and if this girl don't pick up the phone, we both might wind up... Deadbolt all the doors, cause this time you can't quit. I'll set the house on fire; I'm sick of all your... Shut the bathtub faucet off; throw the toaster in. The voices think they can beat me, BUT I WON'T LET THEM WIN.
     A sharp chill shoots up my spine that fries the monitor in my brain, killing the images im once again forced to watch. The regularly scheduled programming I call,"Life," returns and the florescent lights steadies my heartbeat. They're getting stronger... Or am I just getting weaker. I don't have much strength left in these bones, but I suppose it's because I gave you everything, save what little I needed to get me up and to the nearest source of caffeine every morning. I miss you. You don't know how badly that with every passing day, my sanity wanes because you were the part keeping me together. I've said some things I didn't mean, and I'm sorry. But, there was too much blank space between us and it allowed for all this insanity to slip in and consume me. I hope that one day you come back, let alone hold me. I don't know how much longer eye have before the boy you fHELL in l... lo... Love with is gone. I just want to tell you that no matter what, this was--Breaking news coming to you straight from Frank's damaged psyche. Reports are flooding into the conscious mind of a possible hostage situation involving Frank's sanity. Introspection indicates that the threat of this situation has been very real for awhile now, but there was little to nothing anybody could do about it, save for heavy medication or a medically induced coma. We believe that the victim may be afflicted with both PTSD as well as Stockholm Syndrome, and that the Devil himself may very well be responsible. Other sources speculate that Frank's sanity was simply overwhelmed and is merely holing itself up, away from those who have promised rescue. No demands have been made, and there are signs that this will very well end tragically. We can only hope if such is true, that the demise of his sanity is swift and merciful. Coming up next: is bashing your head repeatedly into a hot stovetop a healthier alternative to reality television? Stay tuned and find out.
     A deep, sharp throb resonates in my skull, evacuating me from myself, and not a moment too soon. It's been too long since I could concentrate long enough to make sense of anything. I can feel an anxiety attack coming on when a click sounds directly to my left. The door opens and a doctor dressed in all white and wearing a surgeons' mask steps forth and looks at me with piercing black eyes. He stands there for a moment, as if analyzing me, and then speaks. "I'm Doctor Natas, are you ready for your frontal lobotomy, Mr. Ruland," he asks in a husky voice. He smells of fire and sulfur as his presence begins to fill the room, causing me to wrap my arms around myself. "Yes, I'm ready," I say, standing up. He opens the door revealing an intense, almost burning white light. "Right this way," he says, guiding me through the door.
This is based off of one of my favorite comics: "Carnage: What a Wonderful Life," enjoy.
Jan 2016 · 776
White Dragon
Frank Ruland Jan 2016
The world's on fire; White Dragon calls your name
Needles like demon fangs-stick them in your vein
Feel the hype, the hate, the horror of being world's away
while the one you know just becomes your bane

The White Dragon's seething; sewing sickness through her soul
No escape, no shelter; just another trip followed by a toll
She fights her demons everyday, as she puts up a wall
to keep out everybody close enough to watch her fall

There's no one to catch her; they've given up all hope
They look at her and see nothing but a ghost
No sympathy, no kindness; they've never had their own woes
I pray to God your spot-free life never hits a low

Take her in my arms; tears are mixed with blood stains
Bruises on her skin cannot detail her life's pain,
nor do her eyes reveal how her heart's fire wanes,
but I swear to God she'll live to see better days
If you know a drug addict, don't shin them away. They love in a world where they want to escape everything, but truly yearn to be brought back into the light.
Frank Ruland Jan 2016
"The Improbable Love Story of Caffeine & Nicotine"

.     Every love story ever brought into being always begins with an addiction and a chasm in your heart. The hole, however, you may unaware of or to what extent it does impair the little cluster of nerves and neurons beneath your many layers. The fact of the matter, though, is all good things must come to an end and your symbiotic bond will sour and take a sharp shift into the realm of parasitic in a split second. And the only way to avoid being the host, is to be the cancer.
     I've made my mistakes, but not for nothing. Every curse I've uttered, truth I've gutted, and oath I've stuttered was for a **** good reason. It used to be I lived my life for others, but a short time ago when my withdrawals kicked in, it was then that I realized for some people there is no pleasing. Truly. I was living a masterful disaster constructed under my design and I was still feeling the tremors of the dopamine you left imbedded in my spine. It's like the first rush of Caffeine that bombards my brain every morning, except it will not dissipate. It's an addiction, and I just can't do without. Go ahead, blockade yourself from me behind a wall a wall of wrought iron. The river of tears I shall cry will shall start to build rust and eat away at your hideaway's hinges until they become nothing but orange dust.
     We're taking heavy hits of lust chased with love to mellow out the bitter aftertaste of addiction, because I fear that's the reason we allow our chemically charged cores to condone this conflagration. It's as if our hearts have spontaneously combusted from one too many nights of our wild desires being realized and nurtured after so many others have tried to smother our souls like cigarette butts being ground into the concrete by their heel.
     I'm beginning to find that I don't mind the day-to-day grind with you by my side and your lingering smell on my shirt to constantly remind me of another Nicotine fueled night. I had always thought drugs were never the answer, but now it feels as if in a world of highs, what's the point in trying to find another low? Well, I say to hell with this to and fro, the status quo and the cycle of coming just to go. You're not much for Caffeine, nor i for Nicotine, but for the umpteen time we find that living clean ultimately leads to being a machine.  I'll get high on you forever if there's enough to go around. If not, and this burns out, break out the Clonidine and *****, because I won't ever come around. Your drug is one I don't think I'll ever be able to rehabilitate myself from, and I don't want to anyhow.
Jan 2016 · 771
Winter Kills
Frank Ruland Jan 2016
.     Winter was nowhere as unforgiving and merciless last year as it is now. Never before has my heart been so hindered, my soul so solidified, or my inclinations so icy and indifferent. I've tried to stay warm, but it is far  below zero and there is positively no hope for a hearth to nurse a flame. Frostbite begins to set in, but I'm unsure where to place the blame. So many others migrated to more pleasant pastures, warmer waters and comforting companions. They warned me of the dangers I could not see and that nostalgia would numb me far past the point of no return.
     I can still remember Spring so clearly: tiger lilies were in bloom, crystal blue waters ebbed calmly as the snow melted, and early every morn we could still see the lingering moon. It was as if the world came to life just for us. Everything was being reborn, and it was the beginning of something beautiful. But nothing beautiful lasts forever.
     Now, I am reminded that life is cynically cyclical, and that this deathly chill is habitual. It's like this blue damage is the knife, and life is the ritual. I'm cut open for all my warmth to bleed out as my heart slows in tempo with the steady trickle. However, it's not that the seasons are cursed, nor is fate so fickle. It's that I've grown too complacently patient as I wait for Winter to fade and Spring to once more awaken. But, I know I'm too frozen in my ways to make the trek through this tundra. And  even if I did, my heart is too cold and I'd only be driven under. There's no fuel for the fire, and those that promised salvation were all heathens and liars. As hypothermia begins to rob me of my last bit of life, I feel a pseudo warmth come over me that can only be described as acceptance. Because, even if had made it to Spring, my soul would never thaw. I can only laugh as my eyes glaze over, fixed upon the skeletons of those before me who lie stone cold dead, scattered at the foot of lifeless hills. Once again it's ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and it's always preserved because Winter kills.
If you like this, please be sure sure to listen to the album that inspired this. The album is "Winter Kills," by DevilDriver.. FYI, it's only for you serious metal heads
Dec 2015 · 911
Save Our Souls
Frank Ruland Dec 2015
Hell is too hot; our lives too cold
We're on the run, but what have we done?
Our Angels are agonizing over The Fall;
our Demons pray to feel anything at all
Where is the middle ground--where are we safe?!
Where is this salvation that. We. Crave?!

Everyday is a fight for control
Why can't you feel us--
are we too unclean?
Lend us your wings; pull us from this hole
Won't you please SAVE OUR SOULS

We're not perfect; our hearts are not whole
We do our best, but we're not holding our breath
We are not, we have nothing to lose
when "not" is one "k" short of a noose
If you forget, just let us know
so we can pray before we. All. Go.

Everyday is a fight for control
Why won't you heal us--
are we too far gone?
Lend us beautiful things; pull us from this hole
Won't you please SAVE OUR SOULS

We're not worthy; we are down on our knees
Our brains are bursting--grant us some mercy
We are the Dead, the Dying, the Depraved
We are one footstep from a shallow grave
Won't you hide your flames from these moths?
Won't you guide us? For we. Are. Lost.

Everyday is a fight for control
Why do you fear us?
Are we too cold?
Don't save our skins--free us from this hole
Won't you please **SAVE OUR SOULS
Dec 2015 · 1.9k
Fingerprints
Frank Ruland Dec 2015
"Fingerprints"

I left my photographs on your bedpost;
you left your fingerprints on my heart
What lovely tragedy to grow, engrossed
Now there's traces everywhere;
despite my damnedest to not care
you're embedded in me like LSD
There will never be a way to unlearn
the notes to this melancholy melody
Fingerprints are all you are to me--
the mundane side of harmony
Imprints outside, internalized
You never once held my hand,
but where you touched me burns inside
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