i've often wondered what the point of life is,
ans after 18 years of life i don't think i've gotten anywhere,
by anywhere i mean the point in life,
but i have found an answer for some of my problems,
and that answer i can thank seasick steve for,

and heres his answer and mine,

"So lighten up have a cup of my happy golden drink
it will taste strong to begin with, but you’ll get used to it I think.
It’ll wash away your sorrows and soak up your concern.
Only trouble when you wake up… not a single tables turned."

and to be honest i have gotten used to it,
to the taste and effect,

so tonight ladies and gentleman join me and have a glass if my favourite drink,
drown away or sorrows and soak up our concerns,
because the sky is not baby blue,
and our flats and house which aren't all pristine,

and have a cup of whisky and join me,
while we count away the night till the bells ring,
to bring through the new year,
heres to hoping that whisky won't be my favourite drink.

Cheers.

Sometimes the best thing to do,
Is the hardest thing of all to do,
It's hard because it means letting go,
Letting go of the ones you love and hold dear,
Letting go of all hopes and dreams,
Letting go of the wistful thoughts you once held onto,

And I've come to realise that me,
Myself,
I've already done most of that,
Let go of dreams,
Of the wishes and hopes,
It's the people that I haven't let go of yet,
Because they keep holding on,
Why do they not see what I really am,
A dreadful poison,
One that rots your heart and soul,
One that kills you from the inside out,
Why do they hold on,
Why do they want me to live.

I don't know,
I just want them to understand that I don't want to be here anymore,
Don't want to have to deal with all the crap,
All the pain,
The scares,
And cuts,
The people who pour the salt into the wounds,

I just want to go so I won't hurt anyone else....

Merry Christmas everyone,
May your day been filled with happiness,
And your hearts full of joy,
This little plot of words,
Is  my wish to you,

Merry Christmas
Be happy,
Eat till you can't move,
And open presents till there's no more paper left,

And look foreward to the future.

**

The sound of the wet stone against the straight razors edge,
The rhythmic sound it makes as it grinds the narrow blade,
It's like a song what the cries to be heard yet no hears,
I hear it every night I hear it,
Mabey because that's because I'm the one playing it I don't know,

But I hear it and feel it,
The slow first cut the one with all the pressure,
The skin opens and the red crimson blood spills over the edges,
The ecstasy,
The thrill,
It's unbelievable,
So I do it agin and again,
I forget why I started,
I forget the reason,
But all that matters now is the feeling,
Pure as light it's self,

I play that song and relalise,
That the first cut is always the deepest.

every day i ******* my armour,
tighten the breast plate,
pull on my greaves,
and ******* the sword that kills so many,

everyday its this same routine,
get up put the armour on,
and go out to battle,

everyday its the same line up,
the same people at my side,
who scream the same war cry,
but i realise that now,
the war cries don't scare anyone,
the charging lines of men,
and the clashing of shields,
have become a chore not a deadly game of death,

i trade blows with men as if it were nothing,
i joke to my self thinking what a shame i just sliced his throat open,
but really if i hadn't he would have done the same to me,
but is that really the reason why i fight is it why i keep trading blows,

but i don't know anymore,
maybe on day ill forget to bring the shield,
then the armour and finally the sword,

its a losing battle,
a battle that isn't about swords and shields,
but emotions and words,
with a battle everyday to stay alive,
but it is a losing battle,
and each day i forget something everyday,

its a losing battle and i don't know how long i can hold the line.

I don't know why,
But I feel empty inside,
Lost even,
There's just nothing left to give,
Like I'm floating in space,
And dropping like a stone in a lake with nothing to hold on to,

I don't know why,
But this emptiness seems like home,
Bring empty means there's no pain,
I like that,
No pain.

I don't know why,
But I may just let the emptiness.
Stay.

Some times I get lost,
Not in real life,
But in my head,
I get lost within my own thoughts,
The whirl winds of word that could have been said,
Should have been said,
Get lost within the endless possibilities,
The could haves,
Should haves,
And of course,
I get lost in the memories,
Not the happy ones,
Not the ones that make me smile and laugh,
But the ones that make me cry and shake on pain, in loss and sorrow,

Even now laying here,
I'm lost in those same memories,
And I can't escape them,

Can't escape the pain,
And the bone shattering force of sadness,
The cold tracks of my tears are the reminder that I will never be able to change what happened,

I get lost and even now I can't find a way out.