The ticket stall is empty
Sunlight bounces off the pavement
And reflects off the double doors

There are no posters in the frames

In my town
Most places are too cold for pretend

Against the white
In thick black letters
The headlining show
“Theater Closed Broiler Broken”

Liberating winds,
whispering powerful thoughts,
form roaring bubbles

A toe-tapper with dapper deities dancing amongst my dreams, whilst whispering the seeds of hidden keys

Interloper of the thieves

Charmer of the fleas

A Powerful peon, seceding from the teams

Daring to believe in the sea, swallowing the cities in its grief

Dare to achieve the belief of flight and fly away

Contemplate and fall in over thought

Just do not

Stop

Doing the undo-able

Fate is renewable

Outwardly controllable

In what you think you see in the deplorable hues from the hopeful news of better days, lead astray in satisfaction to the complaints of saint-less ways

I debate creating another other place, and drifting away through space, but hey, maybe its a phase and i'm just late to the show

Last to know your nothings

Im [Spinning]

In place

Plant becomes a tree as it grows
But you never know..
Child becomes a mature
But you never know..
Day slides to night
Infront of your eyes
But you never know..
Changes reflect so bright
As life moves from left to right
But you never know..
All you know is
Change is permanent
With no government..
But in your profile
Its loss or profit..
Which you never know...

Take all that I own
The children of my thoughts
Severed from completion

Haunt me with your zombie right
You, walking dead, making
Hellish nightmare of my pride

Have the arms that bear my burden
And the ligaments that establish your being
And dial the number that numbs me mad

I have brought you upon myself, shackle  of decaying flesh

And to sate my blood-lust
I ill take this hurt mass
And rip it from my flesh
In rose petal patterns
I will remove the excess limbs
Holding onto the past
And cleaver my ambitions for everything left

And in the mass of my meat and muscle
And the weight of every drop of blood I've bled
I will form a Lazarus start
Through the halls of beautiful dismemberment
Through the multitude of converging paths

I forge a new way
I forge my own way


(It is a strange night that the wind does not make a sound)

War and peace, no difference to be had,
Slave or private will 'fire the house and the bath.'

And in that Georgian mansion,
with the candalabra dancing,
A kiss upon the lips of the beautiful belle,
one of the flames,
only military torch can sustain,
because life is war, and war is hell.