This hopeless existence
Made me question persistence.
I'm deep in water,
And it's only getting hotter.
Suddenly, these chains break free.
Oh Lord, was it meant to be?
No longer bleeding, no longer bound.
Who knows what shall be found?
Risen from my resting place.
Self doubt, soon to be erased.

Our days of youth seemed so fluorescent.
The sun mandates we must enjoy the moment.
Love that we all have for life tastes so potent.
Such eye opening beauty hides that inevitable depressant.
A day shall arrive when our dreams wind up abducted
By that horrid beast whose only goal is inner death.
Those sunny days seem more distant with each breath.
My passion for life, and love for others forever corrupted.

I live on the north pole; winter just begun.

I embody those relatable sound waves,
The nutrients your body always craves.
We're apart, and there's no one to blame.
It's our love that couldn't possibly be tamed.

In my twisted mind, craving the arms of another.
The universe guarantees the feeling of being smothered.
Oneself will forever be our most formidable enemy.
Stuck with my own comfort, I wither helplessly.

Awake, awake my little Boy!
Thou wast thy Mother’s only joy:
Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep?
Awake! thy Father does thee keep.

“O, what land is the Land of Dreams?
What are its mountains, and what are its streams?
O Father, I saw my Mother there,
Among the lillies by waters fair.

Among the lambs clothed in white
She walked with her Thomas in sweet delight.
I wept for joy, like a dove I mourn—
O when shall I return again?”

Dear child, I also by pleasant streams
Have wandered all night in the Land of Dreams;
But though calm and warm the waters wide,
I could not get to the other side.

“Father, O Father, what do we here,
In this land of unbelief and fear?
The Land of Dreams is better far
Above the light of the Morning Star.”

Death in the air, repeated harvest, and ****** is the only the viable volunteer.
Our spirits inherit this deep freeze, to migrate to a better year.
It is of our nature to **** what we tend to and care for.
We are all told this cycle is progress, and to ignore this horrid gore.
One soul must be reborn thousands of times to achieve satisfaction.
Seedlings of grass are no longer visible, even a thousand mile walk cannot find human interaction.
The one and only way to find the light is to burn a thousand souls.
I now find myself lusting, out of control; tormenting weakness now my only goal.

Let the snowfall begin.

The earth is robotic,
spinning, ironic,
nothing is different,
nothing makes a difference.

I often infer the truth,
but prefer not to talk to you,
so I will continue to assume,
that there is nothing in common between us two.

Love is a victim,
of a commercialist vision,
of red hearts and Hallmark cards,
Disney movies and lonely bars.

I try not to notice,
but these people they don't know this,
so they walk like they're robots,
smile and make small talk.

I pray that one day,
it will all go away,
that our interests will align,
be not robotic but sublime.

And the earth it will spin,
not on gears but on a whim,
it would all be much less formal,
it would all just be normal.