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.

I live i die, im all too human
very human, so human ive lost track
of what time it is

The duration of events between my  life and death
is it time? is it life? I'm living and clock's ticking
all the same, so humanly same

time has value, like its money
time is valuable, some formulae told me
time is money, and we run according to it
so human, so humanly insane.

The skeletons of clocks will always haunt these hallways
And I can never remember anything you said to me
I suppose the problem is the rope around my neck
Never mind the fact that you’re the floor under my feet
Maybe I just hate the idea that everything I touch here could become a memorial
All for a lost soul who never learned how to properly read a map
But I think I’m just scared of my candle burning out before its lit
I’m tired of the silverware tied to my wrist and the paperclips under my fingernails
We walk on eggshells and all we ever do is **** our own young
You hurt me more than anyone and my lungs still bleed everyday
This is not on me I blame you both for it but not for the tremors in my hands
I still remember that hospital room
And the twenty seven hooks that held up the curtain
Those condescending looks stick with you
After all I’m just another stupid kid spilling his guts all over your floor
I still remember that the part that hurt the most
Was when they took all the pain away
And I think about that a lot more than I should
Maybe that says things about me that I could never tell you
There are a lot of things that I have trouble saying
And I’ve never been fond of needles
Or the bed they told me I was meant to sleep in
This is not my own creation I know I didn’t work for this
I was aiming for the church bells and all I hit was the flagpole
Can you still fall asleep without my skin these days
Do you find yourself lying in bed reaching towards the ceiling
Almost as if you could cradle the stars in your hands
Because I do and I like to think you’re doing the same
*~W.C.