I stand at the kitchen sink and let the water run scalding. Steam lifting from the dingy metal surface like banner clouds lifting into the early morning sky. I stand at the kitchen sink and scrub the skin on my hands, the water turning to mud in my fingers. I stand at the kitchen sink with a knife to my flesh and pull back the skin that I'm so desperately trying to escape. One by one I tear my nails from their beds. They clink as I drop them into the sink. Standing at the kitchen sink, I watch the brown water turn to blood, red running from the faucet. I dip my hands in boiling bleach. The smell reminds me of home. I stand at the kitchen sink and let the salt run down my face and burn away whatever flesh is left till I am staring at smooth white porcelain. I watch my tears run down the drain and imagine it was me. I sit in front of the sink, craddling my newly baptised sins that were never mine to bare.

Nothing will ever wash away the filth

Blind lovers are true
Behold the sadness in them
Yet they save face

I have come to the edge
Where I can see below me the world
And it is here I realize that the world hasn't changed but I have
My eyes are open now
And I can see that everyone
Is a self absorbed *******
With little empathy for others
And only living life to get high on something
Be it drugs or doing something good
Everyone does something to feel good inside
So they don't drown in their self absorbed sorrows

It's this crushing tumbling despair; One that few words can describe. An ache, a pain; One that keeps me up at night as the walls curve in on me. It's where you want to sleep; long. You crave it. You tire relentlessly and yet there is no goal; No finish line. What a cruel joke where the punchline is unknown. How it's kiss is tempting; How I wonder. I must sleep eons now; For the demons have returned and with them the dark times. So thus I shall sleep in the dark, with my eyes open; Too tired to care but too afraid to close my eyes. When I awake maybe the world will be new. Maybe not so bleak. Maybe worse.

Marred with words I never said; Coursing with the notion I'll never say them. Words like thunder; That echo in the heavens as they rattle your atmosphere and break the very bones that keep you structured. Words that are so soft and lustful; They are a mere gossamer touch in you ear; Lulling you to idleness. They stain. Ink bubbles out of my lips and dribbles onto my chin and down my neck. Staining me blue in my inadequacy.

The drop of a needle sounds like the falling of an anvil; In the center of my existence. I was forewarned and forbidden; Oh, but it made the fruit from the Garden even sweeter. It had an edge; How ever sharp or dull the knife. It made me feel daring and alive; Now its smothering me. All of It. Now, Some sad sort of creature who can't get a hold of its being sits in the mirror before me; Its has an inhumane existence to trundle on with. Its dying of an addiction no rehab can cure, however hard they try. Falling; falling to the void. Deep into the withered hearts of those long before who suffered and lost. Aye; It has suffered and lost. No humanity left in these cheap wine like bones. With sunken lips and bruised hope. No love to live on and none to give away. Come join it in it's bleak and tragic existence; Wallowing in the dirt of its grave. Crowned and dug it lies with no prospects to forgive. How wise it thought itself to be. Stinking of sunshine when really it was rotting to the core. Vile imperfection and false intentions. Knives and daggers to those whose crossed it's path. Bleach bones and beach whales in its wake; How unforgiving the cold to the man who has been cast out; Rejected? How dead a bird whose wings have been clipped; Broken? With bleeding heart to match. Not even It could fly with broken wing and painted snarl in the fashion of a grin. With sharp teeth and empty longing. Oh how it longs for just a whisper on the wind from the old country.But so it will trudge; Broken with a head of false hope on it's hunched over shoulders.

Close your eye; Dissolve into the uncertainty of the dawn. It's coming regardless of how prepared or at peace you are with it. It is coming for you; It is coming for me. It is coming with bloodied fingers and cruel words. As the light blinds us; Dawns bright light. So cold; so cruel. Let it wash you into the sea with impure intentions. Let it's fingers wrap around your neck like a lover. Scream; Yell; Shout. Nothing is nothing; And we are all small nothings in the sea. Swept away with all the shipwrecks and whale bones. Decay is all we are; Big bags of decay. We waste and we squander all of our being. As non-existent time ticks on; So does our dying bones to the dawn. Let us close around our deep bruises and bleed our black sour blood to the wind. For if we don't live, what are we left to do but decompose into ash and waste away to the earth. It is an unsightly faith for which only we with our "superiority" hold dear. As we count and die by the dozens. Like flies; We fall off the cliff face like lemmings. One after another; Mother after brother. Down they fall. So they perish. Or so they fly; Fall; Die; Live. But the truth of it is inevitable; We are all dying in our skin.

As fortune fades with all our golden virtues; we are left to taste the bitter morality of our truths. Left alone with ourselves; we lie. Most of all we pretend to distract us from fate. How cruel our existence; as we aim high and fall short. Plumet and fall; Falling is our destiny. Man with it's greed and emptiness. We will fall as it is foretold. Had not newton spoke of this. And, oh, shall we plumet. Burning as we fall. Our "Humanity" shall be our deaths; least of all the end. Let man swallow the sun and the shadows swallow man. Our naivety makes us weak as we pretend to not see; we choose to be blind. Truth will shine through. It always does. It is the sick twisted way that fate has of reminding us that we live by threads. Cut your threads and jump. For fate has no hold over us now. Take the calloused blood stained hand of man and plunge it into the ice cold bitterness. Cleanse yourself of falsehoods. Remember who you are. We've all seem to forgotten in our maddened state. Shed your skins; Come out of the darkness. Hark the generation anew. Are we strong enough for such a task. The world of man is fickle and ever changing but the tide of fate is strong. Wade through the stream and get swept away. Drown in the tide; Forget what you've become. It shall be your doom.

As the nights languish with a fond kiss from lover's lip; Spry words spring from the dwindling flame as to revive its languor. In vain they stumble; Quick to the sword.
Love is, alas, a simple trinket to be bought and sold as they chose. Let it **** the next folk who haplessly come across it's starry eyed embodiment. Oh how black and binding it becomes; blinding the eyes to the truth. Which foolishly enough we over take.
For any chance at the happiness we seek is a happiness we take; Little in the hearts of man do you find contentment in solitude. Such a desire that burns in the heart; Little do we know of the derangement that befalls us.
Damnable in all it's wiles; once as sweet as honey then in a blink of the soul a black churning cyclone. It is the destruction we seek; But yet we do not destruct alone. This is what love brings us.
Countless night up; With wondering minds and curious hearts. It brings spring on a whim to tempt the summer to come back to us. It brings heart ache like a dusk; As the sun sets and we have fear that tomorrow never will come.
When all you get is heart ache; Is this what you crave. Endless nights in the dark after the wolves devour all your happiness.
Crave this lust of love; For all your want, you'll never have. Bestow upon yourself this damnable title and live as you shall. For we are men, and this is our curse; This damnable want of love to escape the lonely pit of ourselves. If only for the night.

I was going to be sick
As this little balding man preached to us about Jesus
And politics
While Mark rotted in that box as Grammy watched and wailed
The smell of embalming fluid filled my lungs and began to suffocate me
Sickly sweet and pure chemical death
Nicotine drenched fingers
And leather were abundant in Osborne's
Where a funeral was a place to advertise
I was going to be sick
I wanted to crawl out of skin and scream
I wanted to hold her
While she grieved
I wanted nothing more then to hold her
As they shut the box on Grizz's waxy pale fingers
And she cried as a Mother should cry
Because "No mother should see her son in the obituaries
or in a box or have to burry them"