Just how long must one decay.
Before enlightment knocks.
There must be a more sensible way.
Than merely staring at a sign.
"Under Construction".
Filling up the time with duplicates.
Hanging them to corresponding sites.
One for growing up.
A few for responsibilties.
Or just one to cover life In general.
Would it seem too ironic not to even finish the sign..
Or maybe just pesimism.
There are just too many negative adjectives to choose from.
With hands stained red from paint and blood.
One would be hard pressed to touch anything more.
Perhaps this is epifany in the making.
But to reach out to turn the pages
Means the story has yet to conclude.
So does remaining immobile.
Strip away existence.
Or just stall the darkness a bit more..
Either way.
The protagonist still draws breathe.
It is just a matter of how many more pages.
Until the last is drawn.

Always.
Forever.
Incessant.
Words that are taught to never use.
Its never ending.
Seaminglyendlesscircles.
Dark and heavy.
Weighing down logic.
For what is seen.
Is not what is heard.
One must count.
Down.
Raging cryptic cycles.
Even if they aren't uniform.
Any rant will do.
Copy.
Paste.
Repeat.
Regurgitate.
Maybe then.
A meaning can be uncovered.
But for now.
Repitition.
Seems to be the only course allotted.

Why does one feel the need to taunt fire.
Dangle just above.
Inticing pain.
Disregarding consequence
As if bathing in such might just scorch away the sins still felt.
From the last searing moments.
Is it hope.
This irrational graspless object.
That most won't leave the house without it.
Tomorrow..
Must be the time in which truth is found.
Even if questioning existence to faceless figments is the requirement.
Over and over does the rabit hole disintegrate the mind.
Until.
The next choice is presented.

We all have those that ground us.
Make us tangible.
There to remind that the blood that sometimes.
Spills.
Is infinitely finite.
And when they fall away.
Leaving you.
Floating.
Anchorless.
Inches from the ground.
But having neglected certain skills for so long.
Finding meaning to make landfall.
Is not a destination at all.
Nor searching for things that fiegn permanence.
The air has become frigid over the years.
One must adjust.
Or lose more than imagination.
Ever dared.

It tares.
And shrieks.
As sludge oozes from its maw.
A sickeningly sadistic synchronization.
Of self.
An imageless idea.
Yet present.
Semantics says otherwise.
The minds eye can only see so far.
For those circling about.
Have already claimed the categorization.
Regardless.
A demon can only hide for so so long.
Before it too begins to believe.
And act accordingly.

It is always in the darkest of tombs.
Does a radiant gem shine the brightest.
Among those that found themselves.
Mere stones.
There to steal whatever hue granted.
As if precedence was the one lacking.
But every now and again.
Two would come together.
Illuminating the inner sanctum with their collision.
Only this match was set before it began.
No amount of kindling could stir ash.
Yet the lightning that flashed.
Ignited events.
In whispers.
Sorrow.
Hope.
Persistence.
It's only in this universe.
That existence overlaps itself.
In preservation.
For what else is there.
When death is used as a teaching tool.
Just to educate the mindless into ignorant coma.
A lasting self induced hypocrisy.
One that is always just an instant away.
But forevermore unspoken.

Is it that entertaining...
Watching.
Snickering behind hidden words.
Is it that meaningless.
Leading the blind in circles.
With such an alluring scent.
Soon.
Dusk will drain what remains of the sky.
Yet the moon will not rise.
Not this night.
For this has left the senses.
Unresponsive.
Regardless of the tides.
Not even gravity dare defy such.
And in such ways.
That the mind will plunder.
And hide.
For in this deception of perception.
Will this day be known..
As this fools tragic.
Comedy.

It's suffocating.
This mind.
Reeking here and there.
Gasping for an idea.
To illuminate.
It's ever growing corners.
The claw marks on the walls are ever so..
Apparent.
Given the choice.
The match may never be struck.
For these walls have become the momento..
Walking them daily.
Adding more as each claw digs deeper.
Waiting for the next one has lost its horror.
Just as avoiding the inevitable.
Has.
This gambit.
Must allude to something of value..
Or was the real misfortune.
Believing.
Gluttony seems to favor the fool.
Even if the world..
Sees otherwise.

There are some days.
That self opinion.
Comes easy.
Memories dictate such.
Enlongated moments.
People trade their present for it.
To relive.
No.
To replay.
The meaning it once held.
Like that person wasn't them.
As if who walked around then.
Was some sort of effect.
The mirror responds.
Daily.
Without pause.
Winters bite.
Turns to summers kiss.
The longing only subsides.
When the race is done.
Only there is no such marker.
Just a slab of earth to remind us.
That.
Wishful thinking is all we are.
Thrown into a bucket.
While wasting away on lists.
The only regret worry having.
Is to fret over life.
Faces upon faces.
Micromanage the living.
An image.
Long since abstract.
Cascades through everything.
And once in awhile.
Can sense be found.
So pick a distraction.
And get lost along the way.
Then.
And only then.
Will nothingness find.
You.

Why does everything begin with a.
Question.
Marking the exact point.
In which any event can be traced back to.
They usually end with more questions than.
Answers.
Even in the times that one comes about.
It doesn't seem to be the answer.
Desired.
A race born of arrogance.
As if we have ever truly had the right to pick and choose.
A voice must be heard.
But why must this voice speak at all.
At what point did we bestow relevance to.
Ourselves.

For what it worth.
Every inch of me.
Aches.
In pain.
And agony...
Yet.
Not in the way you.
Percieve.
I anger.
At all the moments that remain.
Tucked away.
Solemn.
The quiet.
Deafens me.
Torment in the likes of hidden emotions.
Behind pleasant smiles.
I come crawling.
Beaten.
Starving.
I hunt the ever elusive affection.
Most nights it remains just out of reach.
I cannot deny.
This desire.
Regardless of what i have sustained.
Each wound evaporates by morning.
And with each new moon.
Do i become.
A more perfect hunter.

I have lost.
Count.
Or stopped.
Counting..
On others.
I exhale.
To dispell.
Hopeless.
Nights.
As i drag.
Heavy.
Feet.
To.
Ward.
The darkness.
I fall.
Tier after.
Tear.
To tare.
A.
way.
Sadly.
Division wins.
Again.

It reeks here.
Pungent yet sweet.
Like.
Accepting an unwanted apology.
Woe to the tragically gracious.
For they know not of rest.
As sharks circle about.
Devouring the essence spewed from an unclosing artery.
Until all that's left.
Is a vacant shell.
Not even worth the effort to finish off.
Gluttonuos beings.
The both.
Unknowingky knowing the need.
Of eachother.
For the cause of such suffering.
Bleeds into the affect given.
Effecting the rest.
Distortion needs no introduction.
A slight.
Handing over the next.
Riddled with more questions.
And even as the last die.
Is cast.
A tear falls.
Probably.

Everything has a price.
Each time the bell toles.
A payment is made.
The rhythmic thump.
Is only a reminder.
Of how taxing it all is.
There is no.
First prize.
No encore.
As the curtain falls.
All that is waiting is silence.
And darkness.
Only death has not come.
He stands patiently to the side.
Grinning.
It seems.
This is his favorite game.

It's hard.
To do the one thing.
So many say.
Should be easy.
The physical world.
Is all I know.
Beyond that.
Is theoretical.
Which in have come to find is quite.
Simple.
When and how.
Its textbook.
Only my surroundings protest at its.
Magnitude.
I must be looking at this equation.
Wrong.
Two plus two equals four.
Yet sadness and loss equal so much more.
This rubix cube of emotions.
Can it be solved?

A routine has been formed.
One that crippled what smile is left.
Leaving a bad taste.
On a worse mood.
It is said.
Willpower.
Exceeds the minds threshold.
But it can only keep those standing.
For so long after the tank read empty.
Rims bare..
Tires nonexistent.
Was this once a vehicle?
The bells and whistle have long since fallen away.
Negligence can ****.
Even the most relient.
Patience into anger.
Understanding to woe.
There are just to many excuses..
Reasons.
To why.
Justification is required
In the end.
Breaking down.
Seems to be the only solution left.
For little else matters.
As apathy sets in.
Slowly the light from the eyes fade.
And...
Motivation..
May soon follow suit

There is absolutely.
Nothing.
That can be put down.
Without having some sort of predecessor...
Like embarking on a grand adventure.
Will sooth the distress within.
Channeling more against an already rampant current.
Only leads to the depths that one has become so well acquainted.
Yet persistent is the ignorant.
Craving an end no longer attainable.
Anything can stir the wanting.
When all that is left is the road ahead

Gears continuously grind.
Bit by bit.
More is chiseled away.
A steady.
Screeching pace.
But it is the silence that must be feared.
When the cranking continues.
And no momentum gained.
The beast moves just for that point alone.
Out of routine.
With insides rusted.
And oiled.
Progress seems relevant.
Sought for even.
But this robotic organism is hard.
To face.
Alone.
Is a constant.
Talk.
Sick.
A rampaging viral plague.
Calculated they say.
Must this faux dance recital.
Go on.
Only until it all.
Comes down

How does one measure quality.
Through merits.
Deeds done well.
Maybe even smiles extracted from sour hearts.
Should there be requirements.
Standards..
Beyond those most impose anyway.
Whatever may be the case.
Specific or not.
There wasn't a catagory that was left unexplored.
No wound to small.
Insignificance.
Had no home here.
So many gestures..
Went unnoticed.
But never chastised for.
The world began and ended at our doorstep.
To be shown what form a true blessing takes.
Is a present.
Gifted in both terms.
I would be hard pressed to compare.
The night sky has lost a light this day.
Society goes on.
But a single family mourns.
Dominoes cascade..
Rippling actions and consequence into one...
Validation is key.
While others hinder all else.
And Distractions only work so well..
Even sulking seems so frivolous.
On this day.
Beauty is redefined.
As is bravery.
One can only hope to leave..
With half the grace demonstrated today.

Stare into the dark pool.
Just as you always have.
Don't forget to breathe.
Noose the air about.
And tighten the grip.
Such a taxing process.
One that leaves the mind penniless.
Charging for every emotion.
In motion.
A moving violation.
Of its own volition.
Rusted wounds ache.
A lasting impression.
Denting the psyche.
Reducing.
Inducing.
Conclusion.
Destination.
Wanting.

The world.
Is.
Smaller now.
Regardless of how insignificant a life is.
The grand scheme means little.
Is it ignorance..
Or acceptance.
That perpetuates the question.
For those wise enough to answer.
Is the same as those wise enough to not.
This prison of cycles.
Rotates and regulates.
The quality of living shifts gears to auto pilot.
And the low rumble of marching is heard.
In the distance.
As it always is.
Comes chaos.
Pain at its heels.
The weary shall never rest.
Nor should it surprise..

Fragrant rhymes.
Flutter about.
Time.
Coursing through the looking glass.
Altering the it.
That was then.
Unchanging.
Mitigating.
Lines.
Into small.
Razor ridden.
Regrets.
This trial by fire.
Purges not sin.
But innocence.
Welding each mistake together to finally.
Yeild a person.
A mass.
Succumbed to the mass.
Less.
Whole.
In which there is room for little else..

Tremendous afflictions await the unexpected.
As if ignorance was Olympic worthy.
Tears fall.
A sea of desperate pleas.
Evaporate.
Slowly exstinguishing the sun.
Deaths melody is on the wind.
A wake that consumes.
Dragging a deranged animal to the surface.
Clawing through flesh and steel alike.
For there is little difference.
Cast off.
The fear sets in.
Panic injected intravenously.
Rushing and beating with every tide.
A whirling.
Integrating.
Manifestation of self.
Lost.
And beyond.
Pitch..
Black.

Temptress
Enchanted glower of a
stare.
Following an insist
contempt of your content &
less of tests go on to say
morning bells strain on in vain.

Why do you come here
broken bird
blue-sulken, half-hearted
aviator of the dew?
How long must he endure
you?

Swayed from the winds of your brothers &
sisters;
Betrayed none other than by your uncles &
from where they keep
theirs.
Give haste to weeping
Give thanks to conceiving these
wings.

Justified to veer south is
****** not thee
be !
What **!
Hold tight!
Pass on the **** light
Cross vex into his sight
Tonight.

For man almost twenty-six
spoke long of the 27 tears :
of the unknown, complex
passionate, loving years
He was waiting
And always
was relaying
this to his

own little
20 Class A
Robin~

Hidden among the many.
Slightly.
Similar faux expressions.
Is there a dystopia brewing.
Reanimated by body language.
To unravel the mysteries lurking behind the meaning.
An analytical catastrophe.
Set in a form neither parties will truly.
Understand.
Tare at each ambiguous statement.
And may the lines.
Be read where they are.
For between them.
Hold the keys to enlightenment.
But this unheard of sacrifice.
Cannot hold the minds eye at bay for long.
For time simultaneously deteriorates.
And fortifies the logic set in so called stone.
Only the dust may cry.
A tear for every single solemn remnant left behind.
Misinterpreted.
And alone.

There are whispers.
To be heard.
Some that overwhelm giants.
Render firing lines paralyzed.
Even topple societies.
A single word from the right mouth.
Can be the sweetest honey ever tasted.
Or a slow acting posion.
One that can not be spewed from its entry wound.
A Feeling all too real.
That even imagination begins to bleed through.
Every pore.
Every dark pit.
Can not even fathom.
Its origin..
For the dark is where it came.
And so shall forever more.
Remain.

Remedy this.
Believe the wound will close.
Pray the blood will cease its flow.
And when the inevitable happens.
Pray that the shattered remains.
Will find its form one day.
These icy shards feign comfort and warmth.
Contort the mind to reach out.
And paint by numbers.
First encounter.
Second chances.
Third and so on.
Down the list.
Until hands have gone numb and colorless.
A life less than that of which what stood.
Shambles.
And somehow still in motion..
Just as any monument that commemorates the living long since past.

Potential.
It is always said to be right there...
Hidden behind the disproportionate layers of.
filth.
That had collected over the years.
Incessantly knocking.
******.
As a new layer begins to dry.
Yet the sound reverberates through.
Chipping away at what little security was left.
Taunting
Tainting.
One could grow mad.
With little else to distract the mind.
For with every strike.
Would there be an equal.
Fall.
just as expected.
Demanding a new sacrifice each time.
With blood and sorrow.
Only the well has long since been dry.
And for whatever reason.
The bucket is sent down.
To retrieve more of this.
Nothingness.
For insanity.
Is the only thing in abundance.
Here.

There are so many things one wishes to.
Simply.
Do.
Yet it is that word that destroys mentalities.
Or more so.
A lack in ability.
Leading to such.
Simple.
Ends.
As it always is in the aftermath.
But fall short even then.
For it was not your own hand that tipped the scale.
Or even knew of its presence to begin with.
Even if time has served no other purpose.
But to sharpen reaction time.
Coming about in the most ambiguous of ways.
Then reaching the destination might have just been as simple.
As forgetting the word entirely.

This must be it.
The holy land that was a said to be.
Filled to the brim with people.
Only none of the faces are that of friends.
Just a conundrum of silence and.
Desolate expressions.
Even eye contact is avoided.
For fear of catching some imaginary disease.
Contracted through acknowledgement.
So the wandering begins.
Single file.
Through invisible rope ways  
Giving this limbo some form of organization.
Days and nights pass.
They soon will mean little more than the number next to it.
For keeping count.
Is the only highlight in abundance.

Place your hand.
Swear the oath.
Picture exactly where.
It.
Happened.
Words disintegrate definitions.
As images blur by.
The story unhinges a little more.
With every retelling.
Lost into the pool with the rest of the forgotten.
There are some that hook the mind.
Weighing down the subconscious.
With little effort.
As if these...
Afflictions.
Were sentient themselves.
Cunning is the silent killer.
With every new experience.
Comes an equal wound.
Blood has no meaning here.
Yet the cold wraps around like deaths blanket.
It is only when each function is exhausted.
Every seam undone.
Will we finally unravel.
Revealing.
Irony incarnate.
For this choice was never.
Yours to make.

There are words spoken of weapons.
Armor.
Forging steal.
And pathways.
A multitude of metaphors.
Depicting ignorance in force.
The odds continued to stack higher than my eyes could count.
As I used any and all tools at hand to resist the constant pressure.
Only with each randomly reckless swing.
Did the collateral damage become ever so apparent.
It was only when I let it all fall.
The mountain of mistakes.
And the pointless armor I foolishly wielded.
The very one I had constructed to fend of the darkness.
Blighted my existence.
Fused my already dim soul with its malice.
It's was only when her arms gently wrapped around my monsterous figure.
Did the hatred recide.
Tears of sorrow anointed me anew.
Trembling.
The will to stand and face my demons builds.
But it's her hand on the small my back that rejuvenates me fully.
Her presence which drives me
Surrounds.
And guides me.
I must be forever vigelent.
For the dark whispers beckon all the more.
A war of two worlds.
And so called single mind.
I accept the demon within.

Where did simplicity fall away.
With so many cogs in motion.
One can easily overlook and forget.
To the point that rust has set in.
Made immobile by negligence.
Only when the pieces begin to crumble.
Is notice taken.
It always feels as if this clockwork maze.
Never shifts in the favor desired.
Creating more and more pathways.
Only to congest it further.
The air is thick with dissspointment.
And each action seems to disrupt the inner workings more each time.
With little else to do.
And tools in disrepair.
One continues forth.
Regardless of how dark it gets.

It's all relative.
A reoccurring measure.
The same hellos and goodbyes.
A rose.
Red now only through the daggers they wield.
A pedal for each their own.
And as they fall away.
Saturated.
Lifelessly performing.
Arrogantly consuming beyond its means.
Just to resemble what will always be remnant.
For that's all there is left.
A perfected parody to a lesson lost among these..
Adamant followers.
Distraction leads to complacancy.
Which inevitably resorts to a persona of pain.
Wander lust envokes the soul.
Calamity is assured.
Waste not the effort to react.
For there will be no natural to this disaster.
Only a faint whisper.
Beyond that.
I will not say.

Tragedy is spectator sport.
No extra fee is needed.
The equipment never changes.
And there always seems to be matches to linger around.
Screams and taunts can be heard from the sidelines.
Almost always is the advice.
Wrong.
Yet no move is made to rid them.
Blood stains the bout in rhythmic circles.
Etched in over time.
For the paces rarely alter.
Blows are exchanged recklessly.
And the crowds lust for suffering elevates.
Slowly as the two cease in a stalemate of self loathing.
The mob moves on to the next victims to sate the everlasting hunger.
A hopeless unanimous decions.
Humanity.
Zero.

Life is overpopulated with actions.
Misconceptions.
Misunderstandings.
And then miss the real point all together.
Always stepping over each others sentences.
To claim right to a land.
That no one wanted in the first place.
Distasteful means.
To a bittersweet ending.
The victor go the spoils.
Only it is life that spoils.
For if there can only be one to stand at the top.
Then at what point.
Did aiming for such heights.
Define such arbitrary scenery.
How strange to ponder.
Just when exactly did the surroundings grow so.
Desolate.
For there is only blackness below now.
A steep ascention to this final decision.
Has left only sanity to fall.
But One can stall no further.
As the distance has come forth.
And plummet I shall.
Whichever way it may be.

The past is such an interesting notion.
Events and moments transpire.
Then seemingly.
Vanish.
Yet we collect them.
Hold them close.
Or far.
Attaching some form of meaning to them.
These memoirs can guide.
Inhibit.
Transfix.
Suffocate.
And any number of other descriptions to wield.
In many ways.
The time after.
Are just duplicates of the latter.
With placed meaning that's "different".
Archived seperately.
So much irrelevant information.
What can our history books truly retain when perspective is so...
Objective.
We are a society hell bent on understanding what was.
Constantly walking past what is.
And lamenting what will be.
Making it truly a wonder.
That any of us.
Are present.
At all.

Just how many times.
Can one seize those moments.
The kind that shine in the darkest depths of depression.
A peridot of true resilience.
Stricken with the pressures of earths resistance.
Swallowed and spat out.
And yet.
The brilliant contours never faded.
A gem that seems to compliment any disenchanted form.
Priceless is a meaning longing to be with its presence.
Regards shan't be wasted.
For the world may wether this artifact.
But for one to be blessed with the cleansing light it holds.
Shall be reforged.
Stripped of gashes and ware.
Into a relic of wondrous.
Ponderous power.
Calamity may call.
Cities may even fall.
Cadaverous holes and all.
But.
Every desert hides an oasis.
Forever waiting.
For that one to traverse all the adverse.
And drink in.
All it has to offer.

The winged beast circle about.
More for presence.  
For pity.
There is no sport in prey that serves itself.
Yet draw blood regardless.
Taking small morsels of flesh with every pass.
And still no restistance.
As if dying slowly was a feat to cherish.
But isn't resilience a defining trait.
The Heros of every story.
Willingly go in search of new ways to destroy the body and mind.
Their deaths are held sacred.
Glory bestowed upon any who would courageously reduce to ash.
From the hellfires surging within a dragons innards.
At what point.
Does suicide.
Become heroism.
The tools are the same.
Fear.
Blades.
Resounding mental capacity.  
Resolve even.
the words and actions may differ every now and then.
But one fact remains.
Blood is blood.
One persons valiant deed.
May just as well be anothers.
Horror.

The ache begins where it left off.
Time to search the forest of wounds this body has amassed.
As they are looked upon.
Some meager.
Others.
Still flow from that distant beating.  
Does recounting them seem.
frivolous.
Yet the task goes on regardless of want.
A lasting tenacity.
Encumbered by every last choice made.
As this chest takes in breath.
Does regret put that jagged dagger straight to the jugular.
Crying out would make no difference.
Time has made that so.
A vow kept sacred.
For deterioration has stayed true to its words.
So must I make good on mine...
Or embrace the lasting corrosion that living so lovingly bestowed.
If only.
Time was a friend.
Then deciding wouldn't seem so..
Final.

Wavering.
Seems to be stuck in the sidecar.
With doubt in in back.  
And fear spilling out of every pocket.
Where can anything else fit.
It always seems like the only option is to floor it.
And hope.
The next experience isn't.
A wreckage.
Time seems to slow in this moment.
As if to give you one last replay.
Of what can never change.
Tumbling end.
Over beginning.
Through logic.
And past the last chance.
Lementing choices and decisions.
Hate flowing through burning veins.
Igniting the very air.
Causing a caustic reaction that seems to backdraft the entirety of it all.
Leaving only the ash to tell the tale.
And then there are those who see this very disturbance.
And find something within themselves never before used.
Touched.
Or seen.
And alter the very fabric of repetition.
With nothing more than a smile and.
Willingness.
Fear knot the emotions that entangle others.
For it only takes one to wade through the murky echoes of the past.
To ensure.
That The insanity will recede.
There are no shackles.
Only encumbering thoughts.
The only impass.
Is the very reflection staring back.

Dream.
Scape.
Escape.
Elevate.
Plunder.
Function.
Reload.
Miss.
N­o order when chaos retaliates so swiftly.
Guiding hands into the venomous pits.
Where a soul once was housed.
supposedly.
Its only in this abyss.
This land was supposed to be...
Anything but what it is.
When did the guidelines for creation becomes so blurry.
Wicked temptations.
Impregnate even the most righteous.
One of the fallen nights has come to take the warmth.
For this son shall never rise.
A slumber that stretches beyond hindsight.
And digresses into.
Paralyzed Resistance.

There was no warning.
No explanation.
Just an empty room.
Yet laughter could still be heard within.
Somehow it brought more pain.
A sting for every shard.
Thousands of needles.
lacerating the insides like a beehive had just imploded.
Each and every one hid a memory.
A slow acting poison.
Paralyzing...
Ongoing.
Days passed and no answer still..
Fear ransacked my mind.
While my body barely held together

The cold steel in my hand.
Gave no reassurance as it once had.
I was surrounded.
Encased in a metaphor.
Yet this one seemed to breathe.
My family needed me.
The one that raised me.
The one that killed me.
The one that buried me.
And so back at the very threshold I pledged to so long ago.
My brothers.
Many of which gave the only thing that they had left.
On that night.
They stood there.
Shoulder to shoulder.
A thunderous night it was.
For blood was not the only thing washed away.
But an existence all together.
A life.
A Debt.
Now paid.

At what point do all these words.
Meld together.
Into some skewed finger painting.
When what was spoken.
Intended to relay something much more grand.
Action is desired..
Yet there can be no movement.
When the cataclysm has grown so vast.
Metaphor or not.
Ignorance has ceased to be blissful.
Just as life did.
This poor fool.
Never believed in a tomorrow.
The eyes can only witness so much.
Before they stop seeing all together.
Either from knowledge or the latter.
The only option one would wish for.
Is a warning.
Some form of flash or siren in great magnitude.
For I have missed so much...
I fear.
That I am the one lacking.

There are times that lack.
the most crucial of components.
Little cogs that seem to have been misplaced.
Or all together disappeared.
It only takes one Forgotten brick.
To watch it all tumble down.
And an encore of pain and sorrow is sure to follow.
This is nothing special.
The entire world.
has felt this.
seen precisely this.
Made mistakes far more grave then those that lie in the deepest tomb.
One cant help but look back on previous lives.
For that is what they truly are.
The person a year ago.
Is not that person that will be walking around today.
That being has ceased to be.
And with every reincarnation does a choice become apparent.
Stay the course.
One that will continue to gush life in the worst of ways.
Or.
Turn away from the path.
Remove thoughts of roads.
And Highways.
For thus far they have only led to ruin.
It is in these moments.
that define the future.
So let it come.
Let the the beast bare its claws and fangs.
Let come what may.
Let it be known.
Fear has no presence here.
And neither will doubt.

A catalyst.
One who blurs the lines.
Between.
All and everything.
What is there left to defend.
Wandering the battlefield.
Bare chested.
Awaiting the next barrage.
What else is there to do.
But keep stumbling forward.
Even after all the blood escapes the body.
Punishment is a prerequisite.
For not a soul can say they traversed this realm.
Unscathed.
Watching as the horror breaks proximity.
Yielding at the last moment.
To let the decimation.
pass on by.
In smoldering ash.
Does one grin.
Regretfully so.

My fingers hover over the keyboard.
Contemplating.
Fumbling on sentences and words to interchange into something worthwhile.
Multiple sighs escape as line after line is deleted from the white abyss.
So much time was spent trying to think of what emotion was present at the time.
And so often was there nothing.
Using emotion was like changing a shirt.
Acting and reacting to things.
Colors and auras  blend and clash.
Its haunting.
Knowing when to execute a laugh.
perfectly.
I was more lost than I dare even dream.
And although being fluid led to here.
I cant help but wonder.
Why I acquired them at all.
Like clockwork I am refreshed with the concept.
For truly understanding sorrow.
Pain.
Despair.
Hatred...
Only then can the latter.
Not only be acknowledged.
But understood

It was like the first time feeling that burning heat.
shred my abdomen.
knocking the air.
And reason out of me.
Yet this impact riddled me further.
How had it become so mutilated.
deformed.
What moment exactly did people look upon me with such disgust.
That my very humanity was in question.
So much so that even my appearance betrayed my minds eye.
It is strange in a way.
Asking for anything different..
When these hands know well the path they carved before.
And an artisan I have become.
Only now.
Do they construct destruction.
Even as my back is turned.
I have been negligent for far too long.
Allowed my hands to remain shackled.
All for something I was..
Am.
Not going to let go of.
I shall ask for all the pain I have ever felt in my life.
Before I abandon this gift.
I stand eye level now.
Challenging once more.
Not only for dominance.
But for a peace that I have yet to feel.
I may never see it.
But perhaps I have yet to truly open my eyes.
With this second wind.
I shall show just what it means.
To call upon the storm.
And shatter this meaningless mirage that has polluted the air.
Contorted minds.
Nearly even broken wills.
I did not grow fangs to have them go unused.

its all so mad.
eerie even.
truly knowing what it feels like.
to just.
waste away.
watching as the skin turns white as ash.
hearing bones creak like an old oak ship.
sailing its last league.
All the inner workings clash and mangle about.
seize and burn with every blinkless second.
after all the usefulness is emptied from the tanks.
it is left.
not even taken to a final resting place.
just.
left.
not even forgotten.
and as this ship that once carried many.
formed trust.
never faltered.
is now rotten with decay.
a disease of lasting raw hatred.
transmuting this once renown vessel.
into nothing more.
than a distant memory.

I have always let my direction drift along.
Wafting in any which way.
Weaving by any obstacle presented.
Now within the eye of the storm.
I lay helpless.
Lightning and debris course around me.
Crashing into any that dare obstruct its path.
All I can do is watch.
As everything that I had ever dreamed.
Evaporates.
The rain comes down in droves.
Only there is no redemption.
No everlasting rebirth.
All that is left are scars.
Some so deep.
Not a single soul can fathom.
This hurricane knows well the destruction it wields.
Violently laughing as every wall tumbles to the ground.
How much more must I be dragged along.
A mere witness.
Must I always be the one to tell the tale of those that fell silent.
Or will I too finally be consumed.
Becoming the delirious fool of the next ballad.