Two paths diverged in a wood
And I thought of Robert Frost
Who taught me to take the one less traveled.
The left path was covered in bramble bushes and thorns
The right was clear and cozy.
The left was dark,
Mysterious
Strangely inviting.

And did I take the path less traveled as a hipster might do,
Out of fear of conformity?
No.
Did I take it because Robert Frost told me to?
No.
I took the path less traveled because I knew already where everyone else was going.
To push through the brambles,
To decide my own path,
To choose my own destiny despite the hardships,
Meant veering away from the popular.
But it also meant new results.

And I have bled.
I have been cut
Slashed
Wounded for the transgression of being different.
And the path has been painful.
It has been hard.
Many that I thought would walk with me
Have fallen by the wayside.
Yet I look at how far I have come
How much I have grown.
Yes, this path has hurt me.
It has hurt me enough to want to turn back,
To cry off my quest and leave the path of the beam.
How much pain can one person endure?
How much will snap even the strongest resolve?
Still, I persisted.

Through pain
Through rain and snow
Death and tears
Heartbreak and sorrow
I marched forward.
And Robert Frost was right all along:
It really has made all the difference.

Red is blood
Red is fire.
Red is your eyes
As the drugs take you higher.

Red as my heart
As it bleeds for you.
Red as my throat
As it screams for you.

Red in my eyes
As I cry once again.
I light up a Joe
And it's red at the end.

Red in my dreams
Red when I wake.
Blood on a cross
As my faith I forsake.

Red is for passion.
Red is for love.
But my love and passion
They weren't enough.

Red for the sunsets
All those that we'll miss.
Red for your lips
That I'll never kiss.

Red for the torment.
Red for the pain.
I wish away red
But I do so in vain.

I can't escape the hell I'm in.
Although I struggle and beg for rapture,
I'm shackled,
Imprisoned,
Captured.

Captured forever.

Captured by feelings
Bound by my love
Here in this darkness
The only light the endless fire of that love.
And I know so long as the fire burns
What we had lives on.
Yet it reminds me
that what we had is gone.

Oh fire!
Consume me!
Stop the painful beating of my heart.
For every beat screams his name.
And that name echoes off the rock walls
Piercing and slicing
like the pitchforks of devils.

If you could but end me,
Or reduce yourself to coals
That I may feel your heat no longer.
For no flame of hell ever singed so painfully.
No pit of Tartarus was ever so tortuous.
No ****** soul ever suffered so much.
Sisyphus never pushed a boulder so heavy.

As Satan fell from heav'n like lightning,
So too did I fall into this pit of agony.
In losing him I fell from grace.
I tumbled from a heavenly place
Into my own damnation.
There is nothing left but the flames
And the screams
And the tears that never fully dry.

I raise my shackled hands high.
I scream for him.
I tell him again and again that I love him.
I repent with every breath of my sins.
I beg him for mercy.
But I must pay the price for my crimes.
I have lost my place as bearer of light.
I have lost my place as his sunshine.
My place is here now
Where the eternal fires of my love are never quenched
And the agonizing worm of regret dieth not.
Abandon hope, all ye who enter here!
To love is to walk streets of gold.
To lose it is to cross the river Styx.

I can't escape the hell I'm in.
Although I struggle and beg for rapture,
I'm shackled,
Imprisoned,
Captured forever by love.

**** is such a lovely way
to say just what you're thinking.
And you might find you say it more
on days when you've been drinking.

It's used most as an adjective
like "You're my ******* chum."
It's also useful as a verb
like "May I **** your ***?"

It's also used in other words
like "Abso-*******-lutely."
It conveys rage or sarcasm
like "Someone ******* shoot me!"

"*******!" said the angry man
that you cut off this morning.
"**** your mom and **** your dad!
How bout some ******* warning?"

You used it to describe your God.
"Oh Jesus ******* Christ!"
That's what you screamed up to the sky
when your hand met the knife.

You used it to describe your girl.
"You stupid ******* *****!
You ****** around! I know you did!
I've got the ******* itch!"

You talk about your ******* boss.
He's such a ******* *****.
He ****** you on your ******* check
cause he ***** ******* ****.

Yes **** is such a lovely phrase
to sing or scream or murmur
Say it to the wrong man, though
and you'll get ******* murdered.

PARODY OF "IF I ONLY HAD A BRAIN" FROM "THE WIZARD OF OZ"

(Scarecrow)
I could scare away the haters
Who ain't nuthin' but traitors
and not Ameri-cuns.
And my clip I'd be loadiin'
Fill the ******* with forebodin'
If I only had a gun

The body would be riddled
of any individ'le
Who ever hurt someone

(Dorothy)
With the shots you'd be shootin'
You could be another Nugent
If you only had a gun

(Scarecrow)
Oh, I would tell you of
The second amendment
I could shoot at people like the President
And then I'd sit and do a stint.

It would not be just a trifle
to ban my assault rifle
and ruin all my fun.
I would ***** and then I'd gripe
And shoot you in the windpipe
If I only had a gun.

I like to worship Satan
who lives way down in hell,
and when he said "You'll be here too!"
I told him "Gosh, that's swell."

I like to worship Satan.
He's awfully sweet and kind,
and when he said "I want your soul!"
I told him "I don't mind."

I like to worship Satan
and take big guns to school
and open fire on my peers
cause Satan thinks it's cool.

Hail Satan!

In the field
where roses sing
a lonely man approaches.
His face is haggard,
stained and scarred
yet strong as he encroaches.

He won't stop
to think of rest
though long his quest has taken.
His ka-tet broken
friends all dead
yet his resolve's not shaken.

He goes up
the ancient steps
and sees his precious moments.
Why does he smell
sweet alkali?
Is this a form of torment?

Thirty-eight
he sees his love,
sweet Susan dead from fire.
Oh Char-you tree!
He feels such guilt
but keeps climbing the spire.

Up he goes.
He ponders this:
Mayhap it goes forever?
But, no. It can't!
His life is long,
but not that long, however.

To the top
where one last door
with ROLAND on the surface
does call to him
and begs him come,
for was this not his purpose?

There engraved
upon the ****,
the guns his father gave him
wrapped in a rose.
But they are gone.
No, even they won't save him.

Past the door
the hot Mohaine
and alkali await him.
He begs mercy
but ka has none.
The Tower it did bait him.

Roland, he
begins anew
and remembers not a thing.
He marches on,
the Tower waits
among where roses sing.