I'll be the *****; it's expected.
No shocks or surprises.
She'll see it coming.
You can fade to nothing when harsh words cross paths.
I'm riled.
She knows it.
It's a little bit of all life new and past, but she'll get it.
It's not her fault but we'll say she had it coming.
Justify actions otherwise inexplicable.
Premeditated.
Premeditation.
Now anticipation.
Then justification.
Later.
Later nothing.
She had it coming.
She only had herself to blame.
She sees it coming.
If she doesn't, she should.
Now to wait.
Axes to tip.
Always in my favour.
I'm the *****.
To the *****.
I'll come out better.
Now delusional.
Not right, justified.
Not shocking.
Nothing.
It's nothing.
Delusions.
Pills.
Premeditation.
Silence.

I saw it coming.

The only legacy of maturity is insensitivity
I will die old will think nothing of it.
The young tend sodium springs
All the while watched by the barren.
Muted observers to life labours conceiving gasp
Unwilling to interpret.
Bald cries to heaven go souls dug with grapples stuck.
Silence takes precedence in the right seat
Unlawful is the wrong
Red is the left
Old knows all is dark.
We run water to rid false colour
Run it until we are dry
Run it until we are black.

Clear, serene, crystal pool of collected calm
naked to the eye, deceiver of the deceived.
I see myself in you.
And so much i hate.

For you spectators are sport;
To be picked and plowed, ticked and crossed.
Making old wrongs new.
Fooling all.

You lie to my face, I see how you
bend and twist your shape.
Contorting my view. Calling me untrue.
Nothing is upfront.

My hands are tied behind, a foot above
hovers the dagger.
It hangs, yellow, brittle, jagged canine.
Reminds me of your smile.

Villains smile. One day I will rap a knuckle,
crack your rattling skull.
I will open that box and set evil upon the world.
All I have ever known.

Seven years bad luck;
better than a life time.

Feel the air, vibrating,
Recoil from the heavy tang of metal flooding in,
A shift in levels, could rightly be the earth shaking.
Were it not for that thick darkness, vocalization would be a sin.
Curling toes grasp at nothing but space,
No solid mass. Gravity pulls but from within.
Humanity has lost the race.

It is sabotage, unsaid.
And demons come, with dripping fangs and pointed ears.
There is no more precious, no more sacred,
We are no more but fears,
And it is from fears they feed.
A pinch for a flinch, hear now from the chamber the clocking back of gears.
With each passing moment a growing greed.

These are the Demon Years.