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Sitting in the basement writing to the devil                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                burning a candle, record playing black metal                                                                                                               thought about anarchy, all the blood I’ve ever seen                                                                                                                                 or maybe the apocalypse waiting at my door
I’m so bored                                                                                                                                                                                                  maybe burn a bible, maybe drink a little more
Sitting  on the staircase staring at the ceiling                                                                                                                                                           trying out this notion that I’ve never had a feeling                                                                                                                                                                         thought about holding a little sacrifice                                                                                                                                                                                     but I need to find a ****** and that’s too much of a chore
I’m so bored                                                                                                                                                                              maybe burn a church, maybe drink a little more
Now I have to use the bathroom but it’s upstairs                                                                                                                                                                         the thought alone is morbid and I just don’t ******* care                                                                                                                                           just sit here in the blackness feeling like a goat’s head                                                                                                                                                           writing to the devil but my wrist is getting sore
I’m so bored                                                                                                                                                                                                                             maybe ***** blood if I drink a little more
You have now stripped me to my bones..
Bare, bruised and battered,
Left alone; undone -
I have but few words remaining -

I love you, and this will be my last breath of you...

Turning from you now, as you have turned from me,
Each step distancing our once solidified foundation -
A rising fire, extinguished by an unforeseen ending,
I no longer will await the day you had promised...
For these futile thoughts of us will fade,
Our love whither -
Our love perish -

Simply put...
This is good bye.
Muddled endings,
Eliminated by overwhelming intrigue -
Bridge disparities between depression and happiness,
Giving guidance and allowance for virtuous new begninnings.
Inspired by Into the Wild, my friends Angel and Lacus Crystalthorn.
I am lost,
Only to be complete in my brokenness...
An imagination left to its fragments -
Almost methodically widdled down to dust,
My body left mindless,
My soul in shambles -
I am empty.

An uninhabited cup waiting to be filled,
A blank canvas needing paint -

Who am I to wander this world?
Who am I to love someone?
Who am I to exist?
Conformed from conversations, and endless thoughts during the morning hours.
 May 2013 Venus Rose Vibes
Liam
She moves through the fair of her life
with an awareness and introspection that belies her years

She still feels the effects of the darkness that plagued her past
but, as she goes forth, reaches with her soul towards a new and enlightened age

She will not forget her suffering, but uses it to transform her spirit
as an alchemist uses the philosopher's stone to produce precious from base

She is a rebel at heart, but hers is a cultural revolution, an awakening to the beauty of a spiritual life filled with music, art, poetry, language, philosophy, and the science of nature

Transformation isn't instantaneous and her emotions will still go medieval at times suddenly rising like a Gothic spire from the landscape

However, with each contrasting experience she is reborn and better equipped to fashion a belle époque of her own design

She may tend to shun the glamour of convention and develop a unique style
She just wants you to know who she is
We dream dreamy dreams under warm blankets and quiet stars

no noise no clamor to fill the atmosphere. The song of a thousand

silences vibrate in unison with breathing. Each exhale a new movement

through the universe. In and out, drift solemnly, like the ghost on a row

boat wading through fog and sorrow. A heart hollow to the tune of love

and jubilation. Only haze, vague and out of focus. The fuzz of an old

photograph bearing faces long forgotten. Gone, with the seconds,

minutes, and centuries that have been and never will be again. The one

we all share. Soon after closing our eyes to reality. Long after the sun

has faded from view, long before it  should return once more, leaving the

moon as the sky’s only companion.  When our heartbeats have slowed,  

relaxed, a breath before fatal. That’s  when it begins. The portal to the

other end of our mind. The room of warped mirrors. Reflections of our

ideas and experiences. twisted manifestations of thought and memory

for us to analyze through cryptic imagery and distorted stimuli. Here is

where we encounter all we admire and all we disdain, mashed into one

contorted vortex of sight and emotion. This is the dream…
I fell from a high place. Rebelled and defiled Grace.
Her face so ripe in the light of faith leaving this plight so trite,
It's mine to taste.

I do not feel, weakness is for the blessed.
I am not real, breathless, fading and wretched. So...
As this tiny flash appears, it takes all attacks of fear.
And like the light of a kings ears, it breaks the fight for a new year.
I wonder, if I keep talking will you listen.
Thunder walking, a shrill envisioned.
A pill prescription to either heal or sicken.
But in the end you will fear the wicked.

Please no ups and downs, no undulations.
Don't make waves that cut the sound like iterations.
Let it go, I bet it flows. It might be bitter haven,
but love those who grow above this simple hatred.

Open your eyes and be quiet.
Don't pass away just believe in dying.
Treat the crying with tears of might
And buy me another day to appeal your fright.

Believe in me Zion.
In the last year we've talked twice.
We locked eyes once, but walked by.
Thought, "can't hear your song, cry"
But "your wrong," right? Go on lie.
What happened here, Did bonds die?
Did we try to right the wrongs of a long life with false hype.
Maybe that's it, a crazy tactic of a Cold War.
A preemptive head trip, so that's it? "No more?"
No more.
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