I might as well destroy if I can't build, and only hope that something rises from the ashes like a Phoenix who's flame burnt out a long time ago.

The fires are still burning, the sounds of slow destruction all round
this battlefield is quieter now, still but not silent
the crackling of flames, the stirring of ashes in the wind
sobbing in the distance, almost to far to hear
instantly recognizable
there was no enemy here, a war raged all the same
a screaming brutal conflict of brothers beyond control
all that is left now is a broken, barren idea
an immolated emptiness

I know this field, i know it all to well
this is my mind, my soul - the place i return to endlessly
there was laughter here, once, i think. I cannot be sure
for time, betrayal, loss and pain have made it...
made it something else for so long i can no longer remember
what it may have been before or if there was a before
i must like it here, i feel, this field of empty ashes and dying fires
of cooled anger and forgotten grief
i must like it here, for i return constantly
to surround myself in the freezing, burning contradiction
of emptiness

I think i do like it here, for i choose not to leave
only here can i be
immersed in the self immolation the hurts me so.

you told me once
that sleep deprivation
is the equivalent of
seven shots of whisky.

so i drank your words
on tuesday afternoon
and slammed down
seven shots of whisky
on wednesday night
and watched the sunrise
on thursday morning.

the whisky wore off long ago
but i am still here hoping that
if i stay awake long enough
i will stop dreaming
of you.