There are voices inside my head. And for the first time
I realize, they weren't those demons I have believed.
Rather, it was mine. It was me, the whole time.

Prejudices and judgments
I have tattooed by myself,
on myself.
They sting like a thousand needles
puncturing through every bubble of idea
my mind blows.

They imprisoned me.

I have done this with myself.

She lies there under the sun,
A slight glisten
To add to the paleness of her skin.
Right where he left her,
In the heat of a summer morning,
Her self crumbling within.
Piece by piece,
Can't even lift herself up,
To take a stride,
To forget the nightmare.
There she lies on the ground,
Where he left her,
Like*  broken china,
*Burning under the sun.

Seeded in the earth;
Condemned to Hell.
Break free,
From were you dwell.
Dead limbs reach for the sky-
White clouds are alive.
Swirlling blissfully-
As angels cry.

Rooted in the ground;
Devil bound.
You seeked for Heaven
And all you found was Hell-.

Dry up quickly,
And pray to die.
Life is beautiful was a lie.

The only thing I felt today
Was the burn of the suns radiance on my legs,

The only salvation was the light
Cracklings of my last ciggerette.

I watch the letters smolder brown to black.
Blackness flaking off of smokes back.
Dancing off in it's bittersweet serenade
I've succumbed to what exsistance I have made
I only wish to walk in the footsteps
In the last of my happiness.

you know Poet Archetypal -
everything about him
was Poe-tickle
When he sneezed
he said: Haiku!
When introduced
to someone,  he'd say:
"Haven't we met-a-phor?"
He's quite resourceful
like he'd introduced himself to the girl
because he wanted to meter
When he took his leave he'd say:
"Love to stay - but it's getting a-lliter-ate"
And sure he met Luke Skywalker
and said to him: "Met-a-phors with you"


It was fun having him around
but lately he's been in prison
for driving without poetic license;
and also because his creditors pursued him
because he just Ode so much