Over and over again this memory bombards my head,
but it is a memory I never experienced.
Visions of another life, or maybe the moment I was pronounced  dead.
The feeling is so real. Yes it feels visceral,
I mean this feeling is so  alarming.
Every time I live this  waking dream, a dark feeling comes over me.
The closest thing I can relate it to is impending doom, wondering if it comes, if it will be soon.

I told you "some one cares", as I wiped your tears, and brushed your hair, back behind your ear. I held you so close, and stole away your fears. such comfort felt there in a warm embrace. the pleasure I saw on your face, the joy between your legs

Come on I need to sleep.
My dreams have a voice, and they need to preach the gospel of BENT REALity.

Meeting the foul faced fiend & foe we call death.
Lurking about looking for souls, a collector in the truest sense.
Mortals can be persistent,pondering away subsistence.
From death breaths life, a rotting coexistence.

There is nothing but bones left
A gorgeous array of decay
The splendor of existence lost
The amusement of resistance

Gandering at the reaper we can  see life, and reflect
We may see many worlds, life in the blink of an eye, right before our death.

Try not to inject your morals for the minds you infect.
Is there ever really a time when there's absolutely nothing left?
In the world of your mind you must be the architect.
the worlds crumbling down. Your mind is yours to *****

There is nothing but bones left
A gorgeous array of decay
The splendor of existence lost
The amusement of resistance


The dead flower has more power than your wilted soul.
My knife has more life to watch death grow.
That broken glass a stones throw. You are Building up a rebels soul.

There is nothing but bones left
A gorgeous array of decay
The splendor of existence lost
The amusement of resistance

Nothing but bones. Such a gorgeous array. The splendor of existence.The amusement of resistance, and the foul faced fiend we call death.
Looking for souls. Morality they say.....
Mortals can be persistent.
pondering away subsistence.

Gandering at death we see life and reflect
Try not to inject your morals, minds you infect.
Is there ever a time when there's nothing left?
In the world of your mind, be the architect.

The dead flower has more power than your wilted soul.
My knife has more life to watch death grow.
That broken glass, stones throw. Building up a rebels soul.

A thinly veiled disguise
Is really what you want on their mind
So they never see the wall you hide behind
The ones put up in your mind.
A heart like an open book riddled with redactions
Your actions an abstraction
Longing to forget the obstructions you encounter and create.

The prairies open to the wind are soon engulfed by flames.
Dancing breath of life, darkness, no remains .
From darkness comes light, and from void comes life.
Life is a cycle that doesn't end with death.
           Feel it in every breath              
The ****** succumb to sin enveloped in lust's flame
Your dancing with Death in hopes to be free from pain
Stagnant waters still bread life. Death decaying in sun light
Death is a cycle, yet called the end of life
Pain cuts like a knife

Trusting someone is a leap of faith, and if you have no faith, than there is no trust

I sit alone in my room staring at the ceiling, With my palms pressed to my face questioning existence.
Whiskey bottle in my right hand, and some form of elicit substances in my left.
Trying to escape reality.
I sit and contemplate what the hell is left?
My brain starts to wonder through vivid landscapes, euphoric realms, and into desolate wastelands.
A waste array of terrane.
I perambulate these lands.
I try to reminisce of good times.

My mind stops!
Everything goes blank.
I see a dot afar off, growing every split second.
It envelopes all ,then the colors just start to come in focus.
I look upon myself sitting at A restaurant table.
My first thought is, this is where my imagination takes me?
I feel like  my hands are unfathomably clammy, as cold as the  aliment placed before me, it seems that I have forgotten.
There would seem to be a nervousness I can not shake.

Instantaneously I am struck with A strange feeling, and I know exactly where & when I am.
A tear runs down my faces as I ask myself why did I bring myself here ? Such joy and splendor in this memory, but all it is is a memory .
I give in and embrace it.
I know exactly where & when I am.

I am So nervous her beauty is the only thing keeping me calm, like a bottle to a baby I am mesmerized, and all other aspects of life fade.
I can almost feel the breeze sailing throw the air like ships at sea.
I still have to let her beauty sink in., and let my imagination take hold.
I can  feel the breeze sailing throw the air like ships at sea
The air is ripe with life and decay.
So many scents to behold.
A fresh ocean breeze, lilac from homes near by,  fish washed ashore, all scents I take in.
A combinations of smells that would most difficult for one to forget.
I will remember that night until my last day, and  after.
That was the night I found her love.
A love I could not seem to hang on to.
That is why I sit in this room alone, hands holding my face
little petty and largely proper for the occasion.
I must process. my heart and mind or locked in a extended battle. Locked into a special time, a perfect evening.
I see her beauty,the dinner, the docks, that historic night.
I smell the  breeze.
The memory is enchanting me. How did I get so lost in my thoughts?
It would seem the reminiscence could prove unexpectedly dangerous.
My thoughts, my emotions,**** how they can change.
Oh how things can change, Like A noble intentions clouded by lust.
A contagious lust is thick in the air.Lingering soaking into your being. even the bottles and beast that washed ashore were all beautiful. I could see the beauty in all things that night. until the ugliness escaped from with in.
The day dream has ceased, and I long for the night so I may dream again.
I sit her alone in my room