You have to I told her
you must have controlled thoughts
don't let your vision be blurred
by the promise of a dead heaven

Look out and be proud
take mercy with it's key
know you are one of mine
and soon we all will be free

So do not hasten to draw your sword
control your angelic thoughts
for we are now one
with our controlled thoughts

Hold fast and wait
I will give the order
and when I do
may god help you


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

I can't watch movie romances or sad stories
they make me cry
I'm sensitive in that way

When I see uniforcations
see people brought together
I cry, for I am sensitive that way

I am always wishing well
casting loving spells
because I'm so sensitive that way

Never want enemies
always needing friends
because I'm sensitive that way


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

I hate my life
I am awkward
I am insane
I am everything bad
Which exists in this world

I hate my childhood
Because it was just an empty well
In which the snakes raked down my skin
And made my life hell.

I hate myself
Because I don't deserve this life
I don't deserve to be called anything good
I don't deserve these good people
I call my parents
I am just a peice of garbage
Which was sent here to rot.

This bark's outlasted
The wintery blast,
But at the cost
Of the main mast.
Raise the spiniker
And the jib,
Hoist a sail,
Man the pumps,
There's no good reason
To jump - just yet;
We're temporarily adrift
Searching for a friendly shore
To lay anchor deep,
Waiting for your
Lighthouse eyes
To show the way home.

Abuse
Singer sounded like "stinger,"
Fifty years gone, but fresh....
The long sewing machine drive belt
Hung thin and waiting by the broom.
Mother handled it like a snake,
Writhing in the after school air
When she used it to soothe
Menopausal rages.

Welts and shame, rose-red arose
When she stripped them of their clothes;
Struck hard the tender flesh:
Buttocks, thighs,
Panicked wrists and hands,
Flailing in the silence of a preacher's home.

"I never struck in anger,"
She likes to say.
A counselor chills to hear...
A cool-headed striker of children so sick
To give her children the gift
Of bruises, without emotion.

If I carved the words "I love you"
into every inch of my skin,
would you believe them?
Would you believe me?

If I painted a picture of my heart
with the very blood that it pumps,
would you cherish it?
Would you cherish me?

If I promised that there was no one else,
that there was only you,
would you accept that?
Would you accept me?