the clustered up foggy breath,
my molded basement, my solid
brain teased me.
I ran, I ran further than
I thought I'd ever be found.
The worst part, I turned
myself in. I know it won't be long,
until i fight this feeling once again.
This is a Hell's Winter.
Remember, tip-toe and watch your back.
Speak less, and you'll remember the
name of the game.

In my dream, the Nike Corporation
set flame and fire to the development,
cookie cutter, ****** houses.
I raced away in car full of hopeful and
***** kids, who knew a better place to
call home.

And even home can feel like a smothering
mess, so what then?
Will there be a day that this paranoia will
resist the simmer setting?
Pick up your swords, don't forget your guns,
and please wake me up.

These dreams scream for a louder life.
school-books, normality, sobriety,
gravel underneath my skin.
And just when you thought
puking until you were thin was enough,
you're kicked in the gut.
Bleach-blonded bombshells, breaking
barriers, crossing borders, barring resistance
to breeze through your body.
When I die, please bury me
with my brighter side.