The lies
like dirt under
fingernails.
Call on your inner
Lady Macbeth
but no amount of scrubbing
can cleanse them.
They lie thick
on the tongue
tainting tastes
with blistered buds.
A thousand ants
marching on your
skin.
Unscratchable itch.
Descending into
madness.
Only truth can
set you free.
Only you can
free the truth.

Last night I had a
dream, so definitely
indifferent from clouds
of thought which drift
over my sober-wreaked
mind.


I squint and shake
and shiver with
movements, so
statically paralysed.
Bathed in my pit
of sweat and insanity.


To fathom these
patterns of hidden
truth, libido,
won't do one bit.
It can't cease to
become.


If I'm not careful
enough or tentatively
scarce in a midnight
screech I'll be sure to
tell the world my fears.

Its a mixed-up
Mashed-up
Crazy world

But we still find meaning

Its a painful
Sorrowful
Lonely life

But we still find joy

Is it sad,
the way I sit,
right here in class,
acting like a ****,
writing little poems,
that show the way I feel,
the way I act,
is this real?

Kinda overbearing
Always keeping you down
But it means well
It's there to keep you
From flying away
I know people who tried
To fight that force
They didn't win.