I was walking one day
Past the city
Into the shadows of our smoke;
The fumes of our cigarettes covered the trail
Until nothing became clear for me to see.
I bumped into an ancient looking man,
With green eyes that turned pale
And a wrinkled face
That was about to crumble;
I saw him cleaning up
A newly placed tombstone.
He was a graveyard man;
I look at him and suddenly
I felt the urge to ask him,
How is it like? Talking to dead people.
He didn't answer
But I continued anyway;
How is it like to look at solid stones?
And envision her tender eyes looking back
How could we mark he territory of the dead?
As if soil could surround our spirits
How could it suffice?
To point out troubles getting no advice
Questions with no answers,
And as you speak
You don’t know if you are being heard
But you continue anyway.
How is it like? Talking to dead people;
Salute the rocks under the carves,
Knowing that underneath
Lies not wood
But a person who couldn't as much as you could,
And even if he could, you don’t know if he would- come out and talk to you,
Because maybe he’s fed up?
Maybe when life takes too long
The sweet becomes bitter
And our friends
Become but anchors attached to our hearts
Pulling us down
Marking our spirits with soil;
Maybe he’s ashamed
Of the blood stains on his folded flag,
Of the- lose knots in his piece of cloth
And you’ll never discover that
But you still continue anyway
Asking your questions;
How is it like? Talking to dead people.
How is it like talking to anti-change institutions?
And, people with no purpose in life
And, violent illiterates who seek to ****
Because death should be passed on
How is it like talking to people that will not listen?
To the governments that will not bother
To the public blinded by the minor majorities
To the children stuck in their melodramatic attitudes
Over crowded with the propaganda of teenagery
To the hypocrite schools that teach but not educate
To the mothers who give birth
To a fruitful seed, but will not cultivate;
To a father that’s always late
To his son’s birthdays
Because his job appointments
Pointed in the shape of earphones
And circled in the shape of speakers
So it’s neither him listening, nor him talking
Its them.
But nothing will change,
Yet you continue anyway
Asking your questions,
Not for the dead,
But for the resting voices
Leaving you the space to think;
To answer within
Or decide to disregard,
Leaving space for you own voice to emerge.
And as I look back at graveyard man
He was gone;
As if his body de-synthesized as soon as I finished
And the newly placed casket;
Bared his exact size,
And the tombstone
For a second there represented his eyes,
And it didn't take too long, for me to realize
How is it like; talking to the dead.

Let's go back
To when things were better
You don't think that something like this is going to happen to you
You think that you're normal
You thing that you're in control
But you're not
And you begin to realize it
Once you figure it out
You start to question yourself
Why me?
Why am I so dumb?
Why am I so different?
Why am I so ugly?
It's a constant argument
Between you and yourself
You walk into your bathroom
You lock the door
You're alone
On your own
Just you
You stand there like an idiot
Ripping open your skin
You think
Why am I doing this?
What is the point?
God I'm dumb
That stupid voice in your head
Asking you why your tearing your flesh
That constant argument
Between you and yourself
But after awhile
That voice fades away
Theres no one
No one is talking you you anymore
No one asking you why you are doing this
So you just do it
No emotion
Just you
Just your blade
Just your skin
Just your blood
What's wrong with that?
Nothing it seems
You hate your family
Your family hates you
You lock your bathroom door again
Why am I hated?
Does anyone actually like me?
No
No one
It's just me
You see all those blue veins in your wrists
Someone tells you
Don't cut those
But after awhile
That voice goes away
Maybe I actually should hit those blue things
Will I get hurt?
Will I die?
I don't care
No one does
I'm fat and ugly anyways
Who would want me?
No one
I kind of want to die
You say
It wouldn't really matter
You are at school
You look at the others
They are all so small
So beautiful
Why am I so big?
Maybe I should stop eating
Food is like poison
All it does is make you ugly
Stay away from that
I want to get smaller
Did you eat today?
What the hell were you thinking?
Your wrists are gonna bleed like crazy tonight
And it's your fault
You're doing this to yourself
Idiot
Maybe you should just throw up
That will make you feel better
Don't you want to get skinny?
Yeah
You do
Throw up
While you do that
Go cut yourself
There
Thats better
Stop feeling bad for yourself
Stop being so sad
You have a house
A bed
A life
Others would **** to be you
Well why do I hate myself so much?
Because you're stupid
Just stop
No one wants you here anyways
It's that constant argument
Between you and yourself

What do you do
when you feel useless
to the world that
you're trying to save
from yourself?

The revolution remains
in our head
un-manifested
just like us
trying to formulate
the message we want to express

Or the demons we want to slay
with telepathic laser vision
Burning through our third eyes
with our sights
set on the Goddess

The muse in the mayhem
marching away through the chaos
The thrill in the chase
is the biggest cocktease

Meeting us at our sacrificial
sacred places we like to invent
Meet me under the Moon
and I'll make you howl like
watching the best minds of our generation
destroyed by their own madness

That's how to get back at the world
that tried to make us feel useless