Empty conversations are what my life consists of bleak and meaningless exchanges right only in the sense of what my actions have caused

I do not blame him for the most part
I would weave threads of "logic" complacency by nodding my head and saying what was expected
Still do

How was he supposed to know all those years ago
That when i told him i heard voices
It wasn't a lie

How does he know i want to die
I have always been a great story teller
My Creations were creative and realistic always believable
I thought i was weaving s safety net

As it turns out i was only building a dam
A leaky one at that
Constructed not to keep things out as i originally surmised but to keep all that **** in

Black light as i see it and as i mean it
Is one just as convoluted as yourself
It doesn't bring anything from darkness it only reveals silhouettes
And blends the rest together
...
I have no idea what im getting at

They are dead to me
But cursed too themselves
I have done all that is possible
In my world where
combat is Creativity
Where knowledge is a weapon
Kindness is principal
They wander through life
with dull minds
Dull thoughts, dull attitudes
And the same politically correct way of thinking
I've tried
They must help themselves .

the rate rises every day as
hallowed bodies become there grave  
there souls lost and alone
smothered by whatever they made more important then
being alive


deal or die
its the way of the world

todays my birthday for those who don't know years of life with nothing to show, young i am but my thoughts they rust (to qoute rose millligan) and one day i will turn to dust