By choosing between the same two parties.
Is it really our expectation.
That we will change our lives,
enhance and greater our situation.

Now I don't want to be rude,
and forgive my profanity.
But repeating the same action expecting different results
is the exact ******* definition of insanity.

They're slowly stealing your pension,
ending all plans for retirement.
Oh, and just wait and see what FIPPA
And China do to our environment.

And yet we go to the polls,
expecting some kind of change.
Are these who are truly in charge?
Or simply tools meant to derange.

So much corruption and controversy.
**** Harper, **** Trudeau and **** the NDP.
every politicians a vandal,
exploiting our lives with each and every scandal.

Things here are escalating,
and if you don't agree.
Then what the **** happened,
downtown during G20?

When issues are met with confusion,
designed to make dissent impossible.
The people wake from their delusion,
and revolution becomes inevitable.

Raise the bar by a meter.
Or in a way it's our fault.
Do we really pick our leader,
by who can dig up dirt, lie and insult?

Let's stop all this dissonance.
Let's not be known by our apathy.
Pay attention to those in charge,
help better our lives; improve its quality.

Dark melodies, haunting,
caress lost souls
within a melancholy vacuum.
Strength and fragility combine
with minor harmony
to ease minds less troubled.
This gift of yourself,
writhing, dark longing,
as you ache for decay.

Beauty all but forgotten 
by the pens that brought your demise
as they pick at your bones
re-running self destruction
in front page spectaculars.

Lone death is not your legacy,
a symptom of the silence you craved,
now unending.
Seattle's lights dimmed in your wake
it's brightest flame guttered,
reviled in tabloid taunts and tales of lonely rooms.

Still you walk in the halls of the jaded,
weaving life between scars 
a saviour to the unsaved,
our hearts desires brandished
within passions voice, eternal.

*"My gift of self is *****, my privacy is raked
And yet I find, yet I find repeating in my head,
If I can't be my own, I'd feel better dead"

Lay with me but love me not
do not risk yourself for me,
words of warning grace my arm
my nature true, 
worn banner proud.
I am too many broken pieces to carry,
torn asunder
at the mercy of a cyclone mind.
My heart's key long banished
by one who walks at night
though never returns.
I will never be anything
but destruction.
Lay with me but love me not
Do not risk yourself for me.

You and I are missing things
set aside, forgotten.
Dust falls heavy on broken shoulders
dislocated by light.
We mourn the loss of something,
though we know not the tangible feeling nor the name of that we lack,
just that it has gone.
We see it in others, a smile placed,
a hand held, a tear dried
and wonder at it's heavenly release,
as we lay chained at Hades gate by our own hated disposition.
I will sing for you a song of death, while blackness seeps from unclean hands.
I pray that you will see in me
all that others fear
and find it glorious.

Today is repost day
it's official
I'm reading and posting at a furious pace
I will share your words until your name is all I see
the ones I loved, the ones you hate, the ones I missed.
Each one a blessing to my eyes and heart.
I do this, not for you but for me.
Me, your friend
sat in disbelief that your name will be no more
that you will no longer sing the words of your heart into my eager soul.
This campaign of hate that has brought about the end, I will **** it's author to hell.
I hope they read this and smile, it will not linger, trust me.
They may hide behind walls and throw stones at your heart, their yellow bellies jiggling with laughter while your tears stain your skin, your light dimmed by their spite.
There is such cruelty in this place of beauty and love.
So today will be filled with you, in the hope that you see that you are so much better than they say you are, in every way. You are loved. You belong here. They do not.

Please don't call me Poet
I am but a sinking boat
these words they crash against my hull
and keep my heart afloat.
They stop me going under
for my soul cannot be saved
it's sleeps down deep with Davey Jones
beneath the churning waves.

Please don't call me Poet,
to that name I don't aspire,
I merely scribble words that rhyme
and sing of dark desire.
I whisper onto paper every truth my heart does hear,
my blood it taints the pages
you will find no beauty here.

Please don't call me Poet,
I am but cold and worn,
my jaded eyes are barren
and my fickle heart is torn.
My resolve she crumbles slowly, precious thoughts do not behave.
If you must call me poet
place a marker on my grave.

Free me now and leave me lonely
take your broken heart from mine,  dry your eyes, these tears won't save us
as we tread our final mile.
Scattered dreams and shared belongings
gathered up and set apart,
works of ours, once shared, now reeling,
silent, as we break their hearts