As still as snow
As cold as silence
As brilliant as lovers
As blind as the Reaper
As endless as depression
As periless as the ocean
As selfish as life
As dead as common sense
As deadly as passion
As warm as blood
As empty as a promise
As comforting as smoke
As nessicary as the end
As lovely as the dark
As ferocious as love
As sick as reality
As wicked as happiness
As false as god
As pointless as liberty
As tall as feeling
As cruel as fate
As lonely as the wind
As twisted as a book
As heartbreaking as the future
As true as a compass
As sweet as wild flowers
As somber as the stars
As sad as thunder
As soft as freshly cut grass
As quiet as blue
As vivid as a stupid wish
As compassionate as a rock
I feel the world inside me
And its weight on my shoulders

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.

Such creepy floor boards in this house that breaths
Where the nights are long and lonely
The old man sits on the porch and thinks
He'll waste  away here
All on his own
With the world at his front door
With the fear he'll take to the grave

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.

The light fades to black
Chased away by demons
Each with their peircing gaze
With their razor sharp teeth
And claws for the ****
And the shred
To tear into the flesh
And to destroy
Everything you ever loved
Ever hoped for
Ever dreamed
Till, suddenly, your crying on the floor
And they're laughing
The awful sons of ******* are laughing at you
Shrill and condcending
They're laughing at your misery
At how pathetic you are
At your weakness
And most of all
At your pain
Soon that is all you can feel
Pain
And hurt
And torment
Because they remind you
It's what they exsist for
To remind you
Each and everyday you take in breath
Of how alone
How vulnerable you really are
And piece by piece
You break
And shatter
But no matter how many times you pick up the pieces
You will never
Ever
Truly be whole again
Never
Ever
But the pain soon fades
You become numb
Soon
When you are cold
And sleeping
Sleeping so soundly
Nothing could ever wake you
Or break you
Not anymore

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"