The bottle and old thoughts haunt me all the same In whispers of what was and should never be did we lose our way or just vanish as quickly as the night before the day?
So many times I thought of lines now simply I cast shadows where the blank spaces do reside. Tomorrow cannot promise so why should I? Let the words hold there own where I never could . We all have a cross to bear and me? I prefer to simply drive in the stake
But make no mistake, what's nailed upon an empty cross is full of regret and loss and underneath a barren plain is buried pleasure and sadistic pain self recriminations and needless blame, but all the same we build empires of shame to live inside as truly insane we drink from memories that stoke a flame to burn eternally, assuring fame and comfort in a well of regret we drink to forget, tomorrow was just a promise made to us by those that sit at our feet when they crawl upon our laps we are beat, we are trampled beneath our own demise, we hid beneath our own disguise and we expired, when we desired surcease from our wickedness
As I walk a red card in my jacket and miles of empty thoughts long cast aside No words find solace were the demons cling to their vices. All things decay as if to remind the living of the walk we all must bear
I find no guilt in my pleasures just more scars to bare in happiness to none. Whispers of once was lay in empty thoughts. I speak with a mouth full of razors all to eager to cut down the meek . No words hold me in chains I simply but as I will nothing speaks clearly as a pause of silence.
And the old thoughts that linger to grow into rumors Now they are all that is left of me .
Rumors of old bones that litter the path to ruin are spoken by those that whisper to dead ghosts and kiss bloodless lips inside crumbling passages of age old keeps, on windswept moors where bleeding eyes leak tears weeping for something more
Down the streets cobbled with fear slicked with garbage and the stench of ever rotting verbiage,
Speak no more in silence, cry no more in penance of an oft abused life that only walks alone under an ever present thunderstorm of howling winds and lightening strikes and icy rivulets that trickle upon skin
This walk of sin is where it begins .
I have seldom found a true friend who's lines so easily flow with mine Helen is a true friend and it's always a honor to work with her .