Look, I was gonna go easy on you not to hurt your feelings, but I’m only going to get this one chance!
Something’s wrong… I can feel it.
Just a feeling I got, like something’s about to happen… but I don’t know what.
If that means what I think it means, we’re in trouble—big trouble—and if he’s as bananas as you say I’m not taking any chances!

(You are just what the doc ordered)

I’m beginning to feel like a write god (write god).
Can all the readers out there who think I’m right nod, right nod.
Now here I am again for another rap talk, rap talk…
They said I write like a monster, so call me scribe-star,
But for me to write like a beast means I’m a demon at least;
I got a devil kept in my pocket,
On my shoulder’s when I rock it.
Talkin’ of killin’ and of thrillin’; won’t stop it!
Write a demon doorway, now knock on it!
Ever since the dark days when I’d just lost it,
Way back when the world would pace and chant “Nutcase!”
I’m a ******, but I’m charming;
Yes, a crude, rude dude, but I’m still disarming.
Using syllables to **** ‘em all with this
empowering empire of powerful vampires.
The writer-type clackin’ back with typewriters, like way back, right?
Clackity-clack!
Rockin’ stack after stack, clackin’ out more attacks,
Ideas tacked out while hacks hack out their crap (but ******* spew **** all the time),
so I perform written parkour tricks so you’re not bored; strike a chord.
Show you Stryker’s tortured life of suicide ‘n strife turnin’
to strength and a fiery passion burnin’ while readers’ guts are churnin’—
teary eyes all burnin’.
Their fears are returnin’ from a story I turned out when I got turned on
to my own life.
Now I drop F-bombs;
exploding real-life scenes—
these ain’t your G-rated dreams, so take your outdated themes—
It’s the **** I’ve seen; don’t make me obscene.
I’m mean, I mean, it’s my means to screen a scene between a matte sheen.

‘Cause I’m beginning to feel like a write god (write god).
Can all the readers out there who think I’m right nod, right nod.
Now here I am again for another rap talk, rap talk…
They ask me to thaw out these oily blocks called ink-wads, ink-wads.
There’s a body in everybody , but not all bodies have a brain that makes them feel sane.
Like a train—just the same—
Might be runnin’ but we still cast blame,
The loading docks of our thoughts; they’re locked-up in a box,
And they’re stackin’ up like blocks
That turn the stacks to empty tracks (****!)
Trainees blame their brainees when it’s not easy training brains, see?
But the boarding isn’t boring—training brains; not trading pains—
Remember: the station’s self-exploration!
Me? I’m a hodgepodge! From train station to abandoned lodge;
Bully dodgin’, fully locked-in when I freaked out, fattened-up and then I geeked out,
Told “keep it down” but then peaked when I peeked deep down.
Creepin’ up, now, and keepin’ up (WOW!)
I swear it up and tear it up scribbled swords,
And now I wear awards for slingin’ words;
Offered praise; a chance to forget about the craze that once darkened all my days,
But I write that way—say “that’s okay ‘cuz it helps me write this way—each and every day!
And hacks think I act this way just to seem this way, ‘til come the day when the cray-cray takes the doubt away.
Demon obsessed? I’m possessed! Can’t own what you don’t possess!
“Hey, devil-lookin’ boy!”
So ***** for my honey I’m rockin’ horns, look here boy!
A Literary Dark Mass-acre,
Like the devil laid waste to a church on the page, looker boy!
They got a gold star, and a high five,
Felt so alive to see their own scribes make it to Momma’s fridge, ****** boy!
Hey, schnook-ah boy, looky here, looker boy,
I’m held up by The Legion, book-it boy!
Had to push for every word—every page—had to swallow all the rage,
Now you want out of your cage, schnook-ah boy?
I’m legendary—literary—and you’re literally just a *****, little boy!
So sell out while I’m bought out, ******-boy!

‘Cause I’m beginning to feel like a write god (write god).
Can all the readers out there who think I’m right nod, right nod.
The way I’m burnin’ through these pages, call me Dark Lord, Dark Lord!
But they’d rather burn my books, so start a fire war, fire war!
Can’t get it through your head? Words are more than Edward! He’s dead! WORD!
Let me drag you off to meet Dracula; take you back to the dawn of the dark lord, yea?
Fast forward to the foreword where the F-word’s “fangs” (you’re welcome);
This is my Hell, come! Be free!
Part Morningstar; part Morpheus! I throw up a kiss and jot down the kills like they’re red-apple pills.
Go ask Alice back at my palace what you should read to feed your head.
Sentence structure so smooth they call me FE-line, and my cat’s got better plot lines,
That the hacks will all call “sublime” (it’s “sub-fine”)
But me?
My **** scenes are brutal,
And my romance? Not frugal. I don’t saturate—I arrogate—
But I don’t condemn my characters to *******!
I wanna make readers care—if readers dare—
To connect and feel and follow where they can find some hope and power there.
While also giving them a place somewhere that isn’t here—though filled with fear—
A place where they don’t feel jeered or feel weird.
Horror ain’t just movie monsters, or gore-****** scopin’ sponsors!
You speak French? C’est de la merde, monsieur!
You look unsure! But I have the cure in the written word!
And though you once were achin’ for a rockstar author cravin’ bacon,
The role has since been taken by your man, Squiers.
And like a pair of pliers, I can reach into readers’ brains and cross all sorts of wires!
I’m settin’ cranial fires behind the eyes of all my buyers!
And while I’m growing Ghost Riders—ridin’ shotgun on the bullet-train ‘tween the pages—
There’s a horde of haters harboring growing rages
With a narrow gaze of who scribes pages.
They say I can’t write ‘cuz of my tattoos or my gauges
So allow me to assuage this: y’all can’t cage this!
If you don’t like it, let me show you where the grave is!
You’re well-aged, but I’m ageless!
Like the undead through the ages!
And like Shakespeare took to stages you can find me where the page is:
I’m hip to a script, I’m at home with a poem and feeling groovy writin’ movies; and I’ll be EZ on your TV.
You write normal? **** being normal!
What a novel theory! So very dreary!
Why the **** are they so leery, they say “Writing fear? We don’t want to hurt no feelings.”
Feelings? Setting up ceilings! Just more limits! It’s life! Live it!
Set the roof on fire!
Plot is getting hotter than a 24/7 squatter on a ***** channel!
So what if some **** gets a hair up ‘er ****? Don’t make it ****!
They wanna say “Hey you, we’re here to stifle!”
‘Cuz I mentioned rifles? Do they really want to trifle?
So I say:
“Better bring a sweater ‘cuz this thriller’s gonna chill ya—sure hope it doesn’t **** ya—and ya gonna get’a fill o’ all the ***** that I don’t give, ‘cuz I don’t live to let ******* quip or give me lip about my lit.
I’m entertaining and elating and also demonstrating how devastating a stream of escalating scenes can be so penetrating—although frustrating—to a mind that’s celebrating what it means to be vacationing between the pages; wading through the stages of a war that forever wages; meditating through the escalations now that they know what TRUE rage is!
“Oh, he’s too ******!”
That’s right! Ain’t right. That’s life: not nice; it’s strife.
It’s not just me; it’s we.
I just found a better way to show it:
Monsters that aren’t monsters;
Abuse put to good use; bred virtues!
“I don’t know how to plot plots like that;
I don’t know what words to use.”
Did it really never occur to them that to read a book—just to take a look—and THEN take up the pen?
You read King if you want to be king, strictly speaking.
A writing mind that isn’t a reading mind is a weakling; a weak link.
I’m a scholar—not a bawler—so I’m a flyer where there’s fallers;
Raised on Goosebumps and Creepy Crawlers so I’d Stine while others whined.
Got a dark side, but that’s The Dark Side on my side; counter haters with my Vader:
“I would be your father… but your dog beat me over the fence.”
No offense. Pretense: incorporate comedy and film; common sense.
Suicide pushed aside, though I still burn inside. **** myself on
the page each day so my readers can feel what it’s like to be alive.
It’s okay to hide.
Only your own devil knows what’s inside.
I own mine; he’s my co-pilot when I write. My demonic side; my demonic scribe.
Flipping my words to the birds—‘cuz, you see, that’s how I wing it—and flipping the bird while I throw down and sing it:
“Tiger, Tiger, burning bright,
My words are my roar and tonight I write!”
The fights are in your sights like you were seated inside a movie theater;
You’d see Xander and Estella—wouldn’t you want to meet her—
Have a front row to the creatures in a feature presentation…
But ‘til then
Eat some Rice An’ read a piece by a man who
Had an “Interview with a Vampire”—
I’m a fiction author, why would I lie to ya?
Prince of lies? I ain’t Satan!
Close friends, but I’m Nathan.
Judged for appraisal—I’m priceless—I’m  nice: no; charming: yes.
Got a razor-sharp and Shining wit like a crown left
on a King… but not.
Why be a left king, when I’m a write god.

They say their souls are saved,
That they've been blessed 'cuz they give praise.
Oh!
Their dreams all seem so handsome,
But we're holding their God for ransom.

They will send negotiators,
Protesters and lippy haters.
Oh!
It will be so grand, son!
'Cuz we're holding their God for ransom.

We'll hold back their End of Days,
As long as they abhor the gays.
Yes, we'll deny eternal bliss,
If they can't ditch their prejudice.
To condemn then throw a tantrum?
THIS is why we hold God for ransom!

He wears his smile in his pocket.
Where no one else can see.
And since none have seen him happy
They’re convinced he’ll never be.

His laughter’s in a fist.
So tight, no one can hear.
With no joy in his voice at all,
They’re sure he’s filled with fear.

All they see is torment.
They don’t look for what he was.
All they see is torment.
Nobody ever does.
All they see is torment.
They’re not sure what the cause.
All they see is torment,
And all his other flaws.

The world’s so filled with judgment.
It won’t stop to find the good.
But when time is so ****** precious,
It’s a mystery why it should.

All they see is torment.
His soul’s as dark as night.
All they see is torment.
They can’t see his plight.
All they see is torment.
All ignore the fight.
All they see is torment.
He can never set things right.

The world was stunned as the a Dark One fell,
His legacy blooming like a black-petaled rose.
The thorns pierced through the eyes of man,
And the Devil cried with me.

He showed the frozen skin of morals--
With gaping pride and ******* strength--
Adorned and caressed by machinery.
And the Devil cried with me.

There was babies in the barrel,
And an alter upon the horns.
******* cries far-and-wide.
And the Devil cried with me.

Harmonics perching on twisted limbs,
And darkness bursting from our chests,
Our greatest nightmares echo His sinister sight...
And the Devil cries with us.

Let's break all the tension with the pretense of my presence.
Yes, I'm insensitive--but there's no other incentive others can give--
And while I'm not sure I could prevent it, I swear to no god I'm inventive!

Yes,
My hatred is incessant--ever present--and it's what I hold most sacred.
I'm a naughty narcissist with a nasty list of wasted kisses,
And I won't say that I'll miss 'em, 'cuz I'm the type who never misses.

I'm a hopeless romantic with a new sense of Tantric hope,
It's the antics of a frantic mind, but I'm too calm to cope.
They say I'm a raving, violent--rarely silent--tyrant with a craving
for the obscene,
Though, while I'm mean, I'm rarely seen within a mob or in a scene.

I'll admit I've got a streak, but--if you'd stop to take a peek--
You'd see a Buddhist, not a nudist, who's less a demon than a geek.
I'm oblique and I'm obtuse (do these math puns work for you?) yet I'm rarely never right;
Get my angle? Catch my drift? I might thrash, but, man, I'm thrift!
Hold on shift: I'M SCREAMING NOW!!
Don't know why; don't have a cow!
Remember that? That 90's rap? Look at me then; that piece of crap!
Shot down! Torn up! Shut in! Turned out!
Lips are sealed; inside I'd shout,
'Bout just how bad I wanted out!
Enraged and crazed; cravin' razors; a victim hiding from all saviors!
Turned to the pen to brace for the knife,
Started writin' and saved my life.
It's funny to say my life got better the day I started a suicide letter...

But letters turned to words and those words became whole worlds,
And before my very eyes a whole legacy unfurled!
I was GOD--not just a slob--but a shaper of all things,
And the schemes that I'd been dreaming shifted into scribing,
And I never stopped since then; it's why I'm still alive!

So my insanity became vanity as calamity turned to amity.
Sheer pessimism became untamed narcissism,
But if the mind's a prison then consider me jail broken.
Outspoken, re-awoken; take a moment to let that soak in.
That a boy doubtful of tomorrow could ditch the sorrow,
And become an immortal--though immoral, not totally amoral.

So yea, I've got my faults; I'm a sensory assault,
And while I don't mean to offend I'm just a product of the ends.
Played with fire; I got burned.
Dared to aspire; I was turned.
So I inquire to you sires as I march out of the fires:
You've seen my darkness and know my story--beginning, middle, end--
My name is Nathan Squiers, do you wanna be my friend?

In the walls and under the floors.
They creep.
Up the stairs and through the doors.
They creep.

In the forest or in the street.
They creep.
Padding along on silent feet.
They creep.

They’re the scourge of all dreams;
The source of all screams.
They flourish from our pain.
These terrible frights
That plague all our nights.
They’ll leave you completely insane.

They’re the thoughts that make you tick.
That make you fret;
That’s their trick.

They’re the scourge of all dreams;
The source of all screams.
They flourish from our pain.
These terrible frights,
That plague all our nights.
They’ve driven us insane.

They creep
They creep
They creep
They…

Fade to scene--pallet: blue and green--wide shot; mood: serene.
Establish view; a stock or few; pan right to view a distant two.
A hazy rim; we cut to *HIM--so *clean and prim--just as we hear the hymn...
A tear rolls down his chin. The brightness dims; music shifts to grim.

Cue the screams; cut the scene.
We're back in the now and the mood is mean.

HE'S back in a view--pallet: black and blue--the shot askew.
The mood's muted; sounds of shooting. Cue dialog:
"Look what you did..."
Camera jerks; extreme closeup: a smirk; let the ANTAGONIST work.
The wire crew's here. HERO sheds a tear. Signal stuntman on the tier.

Orchestra on my mark...
Deliver line then cut to dark.

Light's back to reality. The view won't change, you see.
There's no crew or doubles. Just a wide sea of troubles.
No second shots; no calling "CUT"; it's all open-shut.
It's not like a filmmaker's lens; it's not just pretend.

Let me script this out what you're all about:
An overconfident lout, but backlit with doubt.
All part of a cast, direct you like I did the last.
I see that you're furious, but you're hardly fast.
Now I'll produce the fear as the shoot draws near--
I've got the schedule set; we're not finished here!--
You're calling "cut," but I'm just cutting you more,
And then I'll edit you out on the cutting room floor.

I appreciate that you feel you've come so far,
But never forget this is MY movie, and I'm the STAR!

I hear the trickle of fickle murmurs as they tickle past my ear,
Their intent is ill, but to what extent should I indulge such a thrill?
Fickle tickle, still the clock's tick-tick-tick 'til time stands still,
Leave it all behind me, but never stop lest it catch me in the rear.

I'm here to remind you there's more than just time out there to ****.
You strive to stay alive; others die--what's left for them to fear?
They're escaping all the hassle you're then left to commandeer,
So can you really celebrate when there's chaos for you still?

The fickle murmurs of their vocals squirm about my ears,
They tickle--sure--but nothing greater than a trickle 'cross the gills.
All their malice could fill a chalice (but no room for fuss or frills).
So while the dead are free I'll trickle on as a tickle in your ear.

We welcome you to the Shadow Realm,
Where we’ll show you how to feel.
So say fare-thee-well to all your flesh,
There’s those who like to peel!

We’ve seen the holy sin.
We’ve seen the just descend.
We killed in the beginning,
And we shall **** until the end!

Welcome to the Shadow place,
Where not one wound will heal.
It’s not your soul we’re after,
It’s the rest of you we’ll steal!

We bathe in blood and tears.
We relish in your pain.
We’re aroused by all your horrid fears.
Your madness keeps us sane.

Welcome to the Shadow Realm,
To where you’ll come to rest.
We ask that you have a heart,
So we can rip it from your chest!

We’ve made strong men crumble.
We’ve made fighters fall.
We’ve made runners stumble.
We’ve done it all.

Welcome to the Shadow Realm,
Where none have dared to tread.
Our roads are paved with polished bones,
And adorned with severed heads.

We cackle at your torture.
We chortle at your grief.
We caress your insides with our tongues,
And feast upon your teeth.

Welcome to the Shadow Realm,
Where we **** your every joy.
There is no chance for you here,
Where your organs are our toys!

So settle into mayhem.
Get cozy with the strife.
Say ‘hello’ to torment,
And say ‘goodbye’ to life.

Welcome to the Shadow Realm,
Where we show you how to feel.
It’s on no map nor tour nor cruise.
It’s your fear that makes it real!

And so you’re trapped in the Shadow Realm—
Where you’ll be ours ‘til the sun burns out—
But since we live inside your head,
You know what we’re about!

Dreadful.
Trying to be everyone's clown
While feeling an anchor of reality drag at my guts.
Face paint drips around saline rain,
But everyone sees the drawn-on smile
And joke that my mascara's running.
Lucky mascara, I think; wish I could, too.
Perhaps I'll cry out,
Wipe off the face,
Hope that everyone sees it this time...
But there's already a crying clown across the street.
One with a shinier soap box...
And nary the burden of effort to show for it.

The Rise: powerful.
A great reminder of self.
Reflection of Fall.
Don't let it hold; not today.
Please, just keep going.
Propulsion: drive to break free;
Free of the Fall's grip--
Freedom for another day--
And another Rise.
Momentum: back in the game.
The cycle renews.
Driven back to the top now.
Unstoppable now;
Greater than ever before!
Rise above it all.
Look down, laugh; never again.
This Rise is THE Rise!
Never falter; never fall!
No, never again!
Not now that there's--a new doubt:
Just the potential...
Just the possibility...
Momentum plateaus--
It was too good to be true--
Momentum fading.
Should have learned from the last fall;
Should have known better.
Momentum's lost now,
Don't let this Fall be the last.
Reflection of Rise:
Let it hold; another day--
Please, just one more day.
The Fall: unavoidable...
The Rise: powerful.

I'm sure you're out there hating all that I have become,
Cursing me and memories of all the things I've done.
I'm sure you're out there wallowing in the depths of I-don't-care-where,
I'm even sure you're chanting that all of it was unfair.
And while I don't feel I owe you a single wasted breath,
Allow me now to tell you how I came to bring you death:

As your lapdog I felt compelled to take you in my jaws,
And as your partner I was shackled by all those grueling laws.
As your master I was bored by every tear you ever shed,
But as your killer I was tickled by just how much you bled.
Can you see it now--should sight allow--what I never could foresee?
That only once, my tortured dunce, could you bleed enough for me.

I may spot you in the ether of the world not quite our own,
And you may ache to see that I have found myself alone.
However...
I've taken many others in the time that you've been gone;
Many who have served me well, so very few withdrawn.
These things aren't said to anger you, but just to give me peace.
I truly hate to plague my mind when my property decease.
Whatever.

As a mistress I was driven to see you beneath my boot,
And as an equal you were never intellectually astute.
As a servant you were lacking in the class that I demand,
And as a pet you oft ignored the rule of the feeding hand.
Through it all--'tween rise and fall--there was the alpha-sin, you see,
Because, darling, though I love you so, you didn't bleed enough for me.

A grunt-fueled ******--the initial plunge--
Sinks the length in to the hilt.
A startled cry.
A breathy groan.
And not a single ounce of guilt.

A pleasured quake travels up my spine,
As I sink it in again.
She twists and writhes;
Contorts and sighs.
This is my moment of Zen.

She whimpers now! She's almost there!
And the wetness begins to pool.
I touch my lips onto her own,
Then wipe away the drool.

Her eyes go crossed; a drawn-out sigh,
And she lets out her final breath.
My ****** strikes as I withdraw the knife;
Drinking in ******* death.

I've always been one for the dimly-lit halls,
The mysterious passages and the potential falls.
I'm not about the risk, though; it's not about the danger.
It's the hope that in the depths I might come upon a stranger.
A stranger with an eye that's seen something I have not;
A stranger with a hand that holds something I haven't got;
A stranger with a rope that will show a new knot.
It's about finding a stranger who can teach me a lot.

I've always been one to seek the lesser known,
To look within the shadows where no light has shown.
I'm not about the darkness; I'm not hoping to get lost,
I'm just hoping for a stranger who will be worth the cost.
A stranger with a pair of lips that tell me unknown tales;
A stranger who's succeeded where many others failed;
A stranger who has navigated all the unknown trails.
It's about finding a stranger who puts the wind in my sails.

My tendencies have earned me a great deal of concern.
I'm told that, should I stray too far, it's unlikely I'll return.
They tell me that my obsession is a danger in disguise--
that seeking out the unknown can lead to one's demise--
But they can't see something new with their old-fashioned eyes,
So while they look down at their feet I'll keep my gaze upon the skies.

What they do not understand and what drives me to my doom,
Is that one should never find themselves the smartest in a room.
One cannot learn all there is; a life can be bettered or it will worsen.
So getting lost isn't so bad if you get lost with the right person.

I've trekked across the deserts 'til there was sand beneath my skin,
And I've swam under the oceans 'til I started growing fins.
I've found myself in perils from which none before could escape.
From frozen caves to scorching skies; from rolling sands to sinking mud.
And, after all my travels, I've decided to go back into the Blood.

I have scaled so many mountains, my hands began to take their shape.
I've fallen victim to the dangers of all natures of landscape.
But through it all there was not a single war I couldn't win.
You see, I was born of far worse; birthed from a visceral flood,
And, after all my travels, I've decided to go back into the Blood.

A product of the darkness, I am proud to wear my sin,
Like a badge to prove my source to every place I've been.
And, though I am immortal, I'll wear my cape upon the cape,
When the End of Times arrives to carry all into the Scud.
But on this day my travels wish me to go back into the Blood.

The air was thick with rancid hate as we squared off in the mist of night.
There was no words--no grunts nor groans--that oozed past sneering
lips. It was a rustic sort of torture; the time slithering between you
and I, as we each came to grips that only one could anticipate the
dawn. Oil stained the rain-soaked way; the alley shimmered in
the moon. I couldn't recall what had brought us there; what
ill-will we shared. And though your eyes shone with scorn,
I swear you felt the same. It was then the hatred started
rolling like a current 'cross my back; as though the
energy inside of me was fighting to break free.
I watched with eyes uncaring as the glass
began to break, and scattered bits of this
and that began to whip about! You had
never known me well enough to truly
know what lurked within, and as
your startled eyes betrayed your
fear I knew that I'd already won.
So much viscous agony--such a
glorious defeat--a body left in
ruin. I stared at what I had
done, awash in a morbid
optimism, and I saw the
shards of glass twinkle
under a cracked light.
Consumed by the
sight, I saw you
sink into a sky
of oil and filth
and eternal
blackness.
Your
own  
urban
starlight.

I know I'm not an orange, but I feel like one at times.
My heart feels encased until someone peels the rinds.
Now I'm open for the tasting, but something in me dies--
I'll be left as bits of scraps; left to feed the flies.

Yea, I know I'm not an orange, but I'm rhymeless all the same.
To most wanderers I won't fit anywhere; I just can't be framed,
Though, perhaps, some may see challenge for another day...
At least that's the way I think everyone feels, anyway.

Look, I know I'm not an orange, but I feel acidic just like one.
The farmer's hand can't leave me be; the chaos is never done.
So I'm stripped and sectioned off for all the world to own.
I know I'm not an orange; I'm just a citrus fruit with bones.

Two lips met in the forest,
Sighing South and heaving North.
They prayed with words unspoken.
Drinking in the dried tears of sated loneliness;
Chewing 'pon the swelled pride of ancient lusts.

An ethereal plume drives the dew-soaked petals closer,
Until neither root nor stem can discern their place.

Two lips met in the meadow,
Singing East and chanting West.
They pursed with anxious anticipation,
And parted with baited excitement,
While the ghosts of lovers surfed upon their hums.

Two lips.
Are as one.

It's like a holy war
When the masses march upon me.
The whole scene leaves me sore--
A hole seen by those who soar--
And, broken and bloodied,
I grin up at them and ask for more.

It's like a holy war,
And its when those holy *******--
A horde, a mass, of masochistic masters--
Hone on me like a holy task, there's
No greater sight for my eyes to see.
When they're still so certain;
Certain that the unholy one is me.

Twasn't me that drew this curtain,
And I ain't the one that's hurtin',
When they make their deals with devils.
See, it isn't standing up to rebels
When your convictions tremble;
It's your morals that need sortin'.

In this war of a devils against devil,
It won't be the youngbloods left to revel.

Come at me with your holy war--
I've fought before and demanded more--
But you'll come to find that what's in store
Will be far greater than what you're aiming for.

I don't see why you can't admit it:
That you've become demons, just like I did.
Yes, there's a darkness within me,
But, as the villain you want to see,
I'm afraid that I just can't take credit.
When the greatest sin that I've committed,
Was shedding light on all that you all did.

They told me to not go silently to that good night,
That I should never give in without giving a fight,
But I've bathed in the beams of the silver moonlight.
And I'm here to tell you that I went with the night.

It's not out weakness, nor desperation nor fright,
And I'm not here to tell you that it's not worth a fight,
But there's much worse monsters that occupy light;
Ones with far more malice, and a far sharper bite.

It's all about heart; not what's wrong or what's right.
You're judged by your merit and by your insight.
We're led by our spirits; we're not led by our sight,
We--all of us--who have joined with the night.

So slip free of your anchors. Let your true self take flight.
Shed away all regrets--you're held down by contrite--
And bask in all that represents your delight.
I come not with demands, you'll choose what is right,
But I'll confess to you now: I went with the night.

You chided and misguided--
Sighed and chided snidely--
While I stood there and deified:
Your opinion was once so sanctified
That it petrified and putrefied
'Til I was drawn to suicide.
And I won't lie,
I doubt that you'd have even cried.

Now this patricide's not emblemized;
Not glorified nor a source of pride.
It's just that I've been rectified;
I'm satisfied and verified.
You see, old man, your claims have been denied.
I stride beside a stronger pride,
We're unified, not terrified,
And, were you here, I'd just...

Laugh.

Sure,
We simplify and vilify,
All that we fear, but I--
I can't bring myself to cry;
I'll no longer will myself to die--
Because, in the end I'm just too high
To even look you in the eye.

I've modified and purified.
And, while you're compelled
to sit and hide,
I'm glorified--self deified--
And your podium's is now occupied
By the one who you once toxified.

And NONE of it's been for you.
No, old man, it's not for you!

They flap in the breeze just like streamers:
The strips of flesh and ribbons of guts.
All the residual chunks of the screamers;
All the bits of the ******* and *****.

They flap in the breeze just like streamers:
The memories of all that they said.
They crushed all the hopes of the dreamers,
So who cares that they ended up dead?

They flap in the breeze just like streamers:
The lingering shreds of remorse.
A legacy built atop skulls, ribs, and femurs;
A mission of evil I've come to enforce.

I, like mankind, have lost all control.
I now side with the sinners and schemers.
You ask of the tattered remains of my soul?
Why, they flap in the breeze just like streamers.

When I go out each day,
Despite what I might say,
There's an immense rage--
A mental cage--
That just won't go away.

I keep it all inside,
Where I wish that I could hide.
'Cause without that net,
There'd be much regret,
And so much more homicide.

There's poison in the masses' veins.
There's torment waiting to be aimed.
And I see it in their eyes.
And while I wish that I could maim--
To reciprocate their ****** blame--
I guess I'm just not that sort of guy.

The sort of guy who gives a ****,
'Bout all those who they torment, it...
It's not something I'm proud to say,
But I'm gonna say it anyway:
I feel it when I go out each day.

I see them cry; I see them hurt,
And, sure, I go on high-alert--
I WISH that I could care for them--
But then I remember a time back when...
When I hurt the same and they...
They'd do what I do...
When I go out each day.

Now ask yourself:
*Am I that way...?

Another day, like any other, left to wonder "Why?"
A mother, guilty as any other, left alone to pray and cry.
Smothered beneath the covers as I recite "I wanna die,"
Brother, it's just another tortured storm cloud in my sky.

Lie; I'm spewing nonsense like it's going out of style.
"Hi," I'll force a smile, "I haven't been down in a while."
By and by I'll buy the lies and just force myself to smile,
Try to fake the same old high as I'm just adding to the pile.

File my condition under "hostage;" forever bound...
Vile: forced to smile while the echoes still resound.
"I'll be fine," I tell myself, but it all comes back around.
While a tree can rise to new heights, it's still anchored to the ground.

Pound a blessed coffin nail into another wasted day.
Found another breath of life that still won't go away.
Confound the demons pushing me--holding them at bay--
Astound the very Fates, I have, so still in this life I stay.

Pray for the best, but I'll forever be transfixed.
Pay it all to the Piper, but he still plays his tricks.
Days, yester- and tomorrow, always feel affixed.
Lay still and listen for the call of Death; I'm betwixt.

Just what do you believe you see when you think you see clearly?
Is it the same for those around you? Do you think they would agree?
Can you define reality? Can you give me a description?
Welcome to my world, now let me write you a prescription.

With teeth as white as doctors' pads, they'll drug you with their lies!
Their speech won't teach but rather breach the scene seen by your eyes!
So tell me now just what is real; please offer some conviction.
Or I can lend you some of mine; let me write you a prescription.

There's nothing real but what's really in your mind.
There's nothing true but all that you are able to define.
You say it's your reality, but I'm pretty sure it's mine;
An uncomfortable notion though it is to get behind.

Can you stick within my world for now, just coexist with me?
Though sad, I swear it won't be long before you return to slavery.
The pain you feel--what you claim is real--is a voluntary affliction,
So bear with my reality, and let me write you a prescription.

You can be free of the terror of your ordinary life,
Just by letting go of all the thoughts that bring you strife.
I've seen your world! A world where pain and fear is rife!
But in my world the pen can cut much deeper than a knife.

I cannot make you take this simple-yet-complex cure.
It's the kind of thing that works only if you're sure.
Though there exists in us a mind, in every ma'am and every sir,
There aren't many who will use them, of this I can infer.

So I leave the choice to medicate solely within your hands.
I'm not the type to give out orders; I make no harsh demands.
I simply hope to rid the world of this misery-driven addiction,
So please, my friend, do come in, and let me write you a prescription.

Between you and I: eternity,
An empty space that weighed a ton;
The silence howled like a banshee.
I had hoped that you might run--
Might sacrifice your dignity--
But you stood firm; what's done is done,
And we held tight our weaponry;
My grip was white around the gun.
We couldn't bring ourselves to see,
There there was only room for none;
That was the end of you and me.

In this world I cannot hide;
All the monsters are inside,
And they eat me alive...
But I survive--yea, I get another day--
To see all the ways I terrified,
And victimized (it's in their eyes),
In my haste to survive...
Yea, I get another day...
Another day to waste away
So I can claim my own today,
When there's no two ways to say today
That I'm no further than I was yesterday.
The monsters inside who live to prey
Are praying I'll plea for another day;
They're laughing--they're jeering--when I say,
That I'll treat their gift some other way...
They laugh and jive while I'm eaten alive,
Because it's my self-deceit on which they thrive.
They wait inside--I cringe and hide--
And swear that my new day will be new.
But we both know it's not true...
Yea, I get another day...
Another day to waste away on ways to stay;
Ways to stay away from just another day.
So I tell them now--I tell them how--
I'll be someone different...
How I'll strive further,
Push harder.
How I'll love myself like my mother--
How I'll show truer love to others--
And feel a greater bond with everyone and everything...
Yea, I'll tell them the same old thing;
A regular circus; all three rings...
A jester I digest to puke up lies just to justify
Why I somehow deserve another day alive...
Yea, I get another day in this world
From which I cannot hide,
Because the monsters I blame--the monsters inside--
Are just pieces of me consumed by pride.
So what outlet do I have from me?
What chance is there for dignity when all of me
Hungers for misery from the rest of me?
It's those parts of me that haunt me--
What the **** do I want from me?!--
... ... ...
... ...
...
Unless it's not to be in misery.
Unless it's not in me to berate me,
But, instead, to motivate me; liberate me.
What if the monsters in me are torturing me,
So that the lies I feed them become reality?
It's not deceit, I see; it's the truths in me
that push me to push me each day, I see.
Just one more day...
I see.
Because it's in this world I cannot hide,
That I've been hidden to who I am inside;
Hidden from the oaths that I commit,
Just to waste away and then forfeit.
Just one more day...
I've been begging--feeding--for another day; another bore.
But now I'll beg and feed for something greater; something more:
Another day.

The frigid air catches in my aching lungs,
Catching in my throat much like it did that night.
The fate of those who fell was determined by their lies;
I'd strike them down again were it not for their stilled tongues.
And through all the contempt, I'm in no way contrite;
Despite all the spite, I dispose those I despise!

The frigid air slows the blood in my veins;
Muddy and murky like the stream beside the glen.
That glorious site where I buried all they'd hope to be,
Because brutality breeds more until nothing remains.
Honestly I can say I'm the happiest I've ever been,
The pious peons I put down: a delicious catastrophe.

The frigid air burns my blood-stained lips,
As my wind-chapped cheeks tug with vicious grin.
Recalling the frozen chosen who would be my one true reason,
I cast my gaze upon the sky, taking in the splendor of the eclipse.
It's true, what they say, about all of Summer breeding sin,
But in my frozen wasteland, I can't blame the season.

Oh, I can't be held responsible,
For all the veins I've robbed!
It's just that I'm insatiable,
And lord knows this world is mobbed!

No, I won't be held responsible,
For all the pain I've caused.
Look at what I have to work with!
You're not the only one who's lost!

I won't take all the blame!
I won't bear all the shame!
I'll take my share with love-and-care,
And nail it to my name!

Just mutilate my life's portrait—
Just **** in my cosmic pool!—
But when, in Hell, our paths do cross,
Just know that you're the tool!

Her eyes are dying embers...
Her skin's cracked porcelain...
Her soul's a spring; she's coiled tight...
Oh! Where do I begin?

She's dying from the surface-in,
But there's a danger lurking there--
Betwixt the hunks of rotting meat;
Beneath the mounds of matted hair.

Her hands are crooked razors...
Her ******* are melted wax...
Her womb will bear only darkness now...
But her heart holds out for more attacks.

Her spine's a fuse in dynamite...
Her bones are all but dust...
But there's still malice in her mind;
A mind that's caked in rust...

She's decaying from the outside-in,
But there's a monster 'neath the husk.
A being built of horrid things;
Of claw and hoof and tusk.

Her voice is winter windstorms...
She draws in her toxic breath...
Her muscles crack like autumn leaves...
She is a sight of withered death.

She'll score your flesh with talons...
She'll strip you of your flesh...
She'll bottle up your insides,
In an attempt to keep them fresh.

She's a curse that comes from inside-out,
A plague that yearns to maim.
A rage that yields to only one,
But no one knows their name...

I reach behind my eyelids,
And tear my demons free.
I demand from them the answers--
Just what is it that makes me me?

"We don't create your Karma,"
"We know not of your cause,"
"We haven't built you--blood nor bone,"
"We don't define your flaws,"

"You are who you've decided--
Structured from your strife;
Erected by your actions--
These are what count in life."

"We cannot claim to who you are,
We dwell solely where we're grown.
It's only because you let us in,
That we call your heart our home."

And so, with eyelids opened wide,
I could gaze deep within my soul.
I found no ghouls or goblins,
It was only I who held control.

I welcomed back my demons,
Seeing no fault in their claws.
It was not they who bred the dark within,
It was my own dark that gave them cause.

I’m baptized in my tears as your hands keep us apart,
And through the rippled divider I still succumb to your force.
But this is hardly how we start…
We’re so distant from the source…
The ache in my lungs has begun to match what you've been doing to my heart.
The salty waves of separation have begun their frigid course.

Your expression looks so gleeful,
As your fingers find my throat.
Your rapture reached its ******,
As your rage keeps you afloat.
I can see your life-force growing,
As my frozen body dies.
I can see you becoming me…
Through my drowned eyes.

We’ve totaled all our totems just to glower under towers;
Handed in our scrotums; douched away our feminine powers.
We’ve traded in our lifetimes in exchange for prescribed hours.
We once basked beneath the heavens; awed by meteor showers,
But now we’re fed our heavens via signals from the towers…

We’re the antennae squatting upon the set,
So the gods in the TV can tell us what to fret,
But do you ever stop to regret
What they’ve forced us to forget?
We paid for this, but what a debt…

We felt infected by a plague known as freedom,
But the antidote… my god, what have we done?

Totaled all our totems…
Traded in our lifetimes…
Ignore meteor showers,
Just to stare at radio towers.

When it all boils down to it...

We truly are a momentary blip on a cosmic radar;
A momentary cluster of elements
Blessed with an incredibly limited-yet-inflated programming.

Now define "reality."

But we waste our time with fear and hate;
We concern ourselves with the mundane and the fleeting;
We invest in indulgences that leave us feeling more and more empty.

You are a single drop of water floating in a vast infinity of the cosmos.
The timeline will perceive you the very same way
You perceive that 1/10000th of a second that happened last week
(When you remembered a funny joke and giggled at nothing)

I see hysterics in the world;
Find the same thing when my escape goes digital.
I see people who think too highly of themselves...
(as though the end of their journey will represent a different death than our own)
I see people who think so lowly of themselves...
(that they're willing to throw away the splendor and mystery of tomorrow just to escape the hells of today)

When will we accept that we are human?
Wonderfully terrible, terribly wonderful;
Brilliantly stupid and idiotically ingenious;
Generous degenerates; selfish saints;
Complex-yet-simple humans!
Nothing more and nothing less!

Live not to be immortal,
But to show what greater gift limitations offers us:
Greater appreciation of what each moment represents.
Live for yourself,
So that, when you find yourself at he end of that road and looking back,
You can say "**** yea; I made that fleeting moment my own."

This is not said to scare or intimidate;
It's said to INSPIRE!
You ARE brief!
You ARE insignificant!
So stop concerning yourself;
Anything and anybody can waste that already precious time.
Rid yourselves of the poisons
That would turn the beautiful translucence of the water droplet representing you into a putrid blot of poison that the Universe would sooner forget.

Twas under the brightest silver moon,
That I witnessed true perfection bloom--
Her hair like silken petals; her figure strong and proud--
And all this beauty blossomed five full months from June.

Just as frail as flowers, though, her splendor was painfully brief,
And, though many said I must move on, I could not contain my grief.
I could not bring myself to so easily sway!
I just did not have it in me to turn over a new leaf.

My mind's been a flutter with floating blossoms of her face.
A cloud of radiant spores I'm forever forced to chase.
This wasn't just a fish occupying a vast sea;
There were no other flowers that could occupy my shattered heart-vase.

And now her name's like perfume foreign to all other noses,
I've found a simple remedy that alleviates my pain.
But, as the garden of my heart festers and decomposes,
I feel a little better every time I burn the roses.

Tangled in my own regret,
I can’t see through the vines.
I fight and tear and yet,
I’m far too entwined.

Tearing to see sunlight,
Though I’m already underground.
They strangle as they hold me tight,
And I cannot hear a sound.

Life’s a ******* ****
That refuses to be torn!
Flourishing from need
And choking all who’re born!

Trapping every creature!
Consuming every breath!
They drain everything that is pure
Leaving only death!

Life’s a ******* ****
In the garden of what’s pure.
Blindness is our one true creed.
And death’s the only cure!