Back and forth we run,
Pieces on this board of fun.
Yet not all can see
The beauty in this fragile futility.

This game, primarily run by fools,
Is devoid of common sense or rules.
And as pieces scatter,
Their impermanence an unspoken manner,
There's naught but mice,
Too afraid to roll the dice.

But here is an uncommon thought,
Just worry not.
Worry not of your impermanence,
Worry not of your ***** footprints,
Worry not of your suppressed shame,
Worry not of your trivial blame,
And think but this,
Why worry at all?

Just sit back and enjoy the game,
Create your own rules,
And worry not of the shame bestowed by fools.

I stalk you in the shadows,
Returning from my grave so shallow,
Your precious pride, I'll make you swallow.
Your bigotry knew no bounds,
And thus unbound my fury like the hounds.
In your shadow my eyes doth glow,
The plotting of your downfall they surely show.
You claim to know not,
The crimes unto me for which you will rot,
Yet through all your fear and tears,
My approach you shall not hear,
And that podium upon which you hold all your reverence,
Shall become the territory of your Revenants.

People often wonder,
How does a king ignore his followers,
Just sit by as they suffer.

Yet you don't know what he's known,
For you've never taken the throne.
How much is he shown?
From that place on his throne.

Does he choose to turn a blind eye?
Watching while others cry?
Or does something else lay claim to the apple of his eye?

But what is it that protects the king from ire,
Whilst his loyalties are under fire?

It is not commonly known,
That the king is only shown what his throne wants shown.

If you don't believe me then go ahead,
Take the throne,
Atop the previous monarch's head,
And have your vision overthrown.

It's just so serene,
The subtle sounds of the machine.
The light pitter-patter,
Removing all that ever mattered.
I sit in silence,
Entranced by this unnoticed violence,
The cause of my insanity,
And most definitely the source of my serenity.

Would you believe me if I told you I think I'm certifiably insane?
Probably, considering you've nothing to go by other than a name.
Do you even care?
Probably not, and considering I'm another person you've never met it's only fair.
But to those who do,
A piece of advice to you.
Whoever you think someone is,
That's who they really are.
But don't just take my word for this,
Because as I said before, I think my sanity it's pretty far...

You know, I've always wondered
What type of people read these?
Are you a person who is very kindred?
Or are you constantly weak in the knees?

Maybe I'm just talking to myself again,
This place just another of my fragile delusions.
Thinking here with no real gain,
Taking to inconceivable illusions.

The line to which every tyrant dies,
The saying to end all tyranny.
Yet it has not found every place tyranny lies,
Despite some places being quite... elementary.
People are constantly sent to schools,
While these schools are run by greedy fools.
And if you enter school to satisfy a need for learning,
You will certainly leave with a sense of yearning.
But few beg for the system to be changed.
Whilst those who do are deemed deranged.
Oppressed by a system that rewards based not on merit,
But on obedience.
The talks of change claimed to be out of the budget.
Left to blindly follow their credence.
Sic semper tyrannis.

I feel as though I'm trapped in a maze
as I wander, lost in a daze.
Here in this place where no wind blows
The fact that I'm here I think no one knows.
Twelve years of standardized outside correction,
Has left me with no sense of direction.
I wander these dark halls,
With tattered memories of its various pitfalls
I wander alone
Through thoughts of common sense,
Or tragic past events,
To everything I've never known.
It gets bigger everyday,
I hear its shifts, learning what it wants me to say.
There is no way to make it through all of my days,
So for you, I have one final request:
This is an invitation,
To the corners of my mind,
My final act of desperation,
Come see what you will find.

I thought it nice to make a correction,
to a saying that may have caused much rejection.
For all those lovers who's long distance relationships they fear,
I shall leave this simple note here:

While distance may make the heart grow fonder,
Too much distance will make the heart go yonder.

Every phoenix rises from their flame,
But not all return the same.
And upon every rise,
A new feathers of the majestic bird dies,
Waiting for someone to revitalize,
Or just listen to its cries.

Emptiness
Helplessness
A crack in my being
Through which all feeling is fleeing.
A splinter in my soul
Dug deeper than the largest hole
Ever growing,
But never showing
Whilst I must admit it is home to my inner creatures,
They are not all without their good features.
A source of my creativity,
Despite its terrible implications and my hate
I hope my splinter never leaves me,
For I cannot imagine what I would do without my gate,
Because I may be as dark as coal,
Without this splinter in my soul.

It's following me,
Nameless, faceless.
Too dark to see...
Traceless.
It follows my every step,
Into my life it crept.
Influenced by everything...
Or is it influenced by nothing?
Does it matter?
No matter what I try, it's influence on me goes farther than chatter.
Darker than coal,
Like a splinter in my soul.
I'm like a refugee in my own life,
Lost in all this strife.
It follows me though light,
And surrounds me in the night...
Influenced by infinity,
My own personal tragedy...

Names are powerful seals
They have the powers of deception
Concealing how you feel,
Or your mind's conceptions.
But names have a fatal flaw,
Releasing your demons upon a single call.
And if every time it happened you saw,
You would surely feel the fall.
But it doesn't have to always be the same,
And there is no reason to show obscenities,
Just call out my name,
And I'll be there with your insanity.

Has it ever cruised through your head,
All those things you've ever heard said?
Have you ever imagined how a criminal thinks,
Or the thoughts of the passengers of a ship as she sinks?
It could be quite intriguing,
Seeing how other people are feeling.
But as I think now,
I find ways that could prove how,
Whilst it would be quite thought provoking,
It's probably best that these things go left unspoken.

There is a seed planted deep within us,
One that is constantly trapped,
Deep within our subconscious,
And for those observant enough to catch it, a feeling of being trapped.

It's directly in our face,
No matter where we go.
Inside every public place,
Even in your home.

But it doesn't have to be,
That they control both you and me.
You can strike down this tree
And avoid becoming another mindless zombie.

Celebrate your individuality,
And make sure that everyone sees,
Is that the last thing the human race needs.
Is another  Borrachero tree spreading its filthy seeds.

I am a feminist.
I am also male.
I'm not trying to be anyone's protagonist,
Just trying to tell my tale.

I learned the definition of feminism and ever since,
I've been trying to give my 2 cents.
Listen not to the media's claim,
For their feminists are not even in name.

I see no reason for such separation.
This sexist discrimination can only lead to societal degradation.

So if you believe more in the importance of ability than beauty,
Regardless of ***, you can join the feminist side with me.

I found a mask in my attic.
It was just laying there.
It's rather erratic,
finding a mask somewhere.

There was a note attached.
It read 'One size fits all; one per person'.
So, after I had my fill of my head being scratched,
I decided to try to wear this mask void of emotion.

But it did not fit.
With my confusion awoken,
I could not wear it,
Despite what the note had spoken.
I assumed it to be broken.

But upon closer inspection,
I made a detection.
The space of the mask had been taken,
By something much more potent.
Leaving me less then content.

You're my Zyxythine.
Beautiful,
Serene,
Tranquil,
My best friend,
My only care,
The only trend,
My breathless air.
And, much like the word that describes you,
A product of my imagination.

I sit here inside,
With my chair and my book,
I sit here and hide,
Hoping someone will look.
They never do though.
All of them avoiding my fortress,
never bothering to show,
And here I shall continue to repress.
Turning the chapter in my book of life,
And remembering the frustration,
As well as the strife,
That led to the construction of my prison.

It was an old time,
One filled with dirt and grime,
When a man was put on the gallows,
In the towns ***** shallows.

They sat in the hay,
In this city of gray,
None of them capable of knowing,
The tragic irony of this showing.

Once the man was hanged on the scene,
The scene became obscene.
All the people lost track,
As their world faded to black.

I made a wrong turn,
On a racecar track,
And I don’t think I can learn,
How to find my way back.

Everyone went left,
But with a motion so deft,
I discovered with a fright,
That I was going right.

What was down this way I could not have known,
Though somehow I know that I will be shown,
Through upcoming strife,
I shall improve my life.
-----------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------
I found my way back,
To the old racecar track,
Though I feel this was unwise,
Because they demand my demise.

All too late I realize,
That diversity they do not advise,
And my wrong turn for which I will burn,
Is not the right turn,
But the decision to return.

I see them playing on the wall,
My friendly shadows standing tall.
They laugh and they play,
And they make all the pain go away.
-----------------------------------------------------------­---------------------
It has been a year,
And I feel that things are as bad as I fear.
There is an absence on my wall,
Ever since that fateful fall.

I don’t know what they did,
But from them I could not have hid.
Those men in blue from this fall,
Have taken my shadows from the wall.

I have no way to know,
Where my shadows had to go.
But I have found a way to reach their fate,
If I can visit that blackened gate.

All they wanted was to play a game,
My friendly shadows whom I give fame.
And since those men took them away,
It is I who has to pay.

Most people can't get out of bed,
Without a shot of Joe to the head,
But it's never been the thing for me,
For you see,


Cannibalism was never my thing.

I've fallen into a rosebush,
For I was in far too much of a rush,
Now I lay stuck, and fresh out of luck,
As I scramble in the bramble.

But this bush is not as it seems,
For there is movement at the seams.
The movement is hushed,
And my pleas it has shushed,
As it beams into my dreams.

It's too late,
I can't change my fate,
Give up on the fight,
And everything will be alright.

I scream and I shout,
But no one is willing to bring this change about.
Only too late do I see,
That there are hundreds of others just like me.
None of them thinking,
Their wills shrinking,
Lost to the rosebush,
Their voices a collective hush.

But not all is lost,
Because at a great cost,
I have written this warning:
**Beware the rosebush if your individuality you will be mourning.

Here I lay trapped,
Left here bound.
To that which I have clasped,
Until I am unwound.

Its intentions are not as pure,
It remains shrouded in deceit.
For this there is a cure,
If only our blindness we defeat.

This devil has us,
Locked within his hells.
Sad and lorn we stay so anxious,
Moved only by hourly bells.