Polished and refined,
With death I have found
A life below ground
A place I can call mine
Destruction and evil deeds
A breeding of pure hate
Is all that I can create
Out of all these heartless seeds

I punch them in
To the deep sullen dirt
Water them with vengeance
And a sprinkling of hurt
Tonight is the night
I find what dwells below
I don't have a key
But I can bargain with my soul
As I place it into these seeds
I am but reeds in the grass
I'm letting go
Only Heaven knows
The blackness of Hell's wrath

I plant my lifeless soul in this plot
To groom it as it grows
So slowly that nobody knows
It's the place the devil goes to rot
Watered with tears, warmed with fire
And as time stands still, never changing
This fruition of evil continues growing
Until the depths of hell can go no higher

Then it will bloom
A flowering gloom
Growing out of control
The ground will harden
In this here garden
Fertilized by my soul

There's no Pokémon
here in Rio, much like our
clean drinking water.

Don't live life
Full of regret
High expectations
Never met
Love letters
You did not send
Broken fences
You wouldn't mend
Hurtful words
Unable to take back
Feeling your heart
Start to crack
Pushed people away
Now your alone
No one to talk to
On the phone
It'll be okay
Don't be sad
Things can't really
Be that bad
That is why
When things look bleak
You must turn
The other cheek
Don't let life
Get you down
Turn your frown
Upside down
You must have done
Something right
Because I am here
With you tonight

I've made a shocking
Discovery.

None of us have
Chests.

And none of us
Ever did.

We all have green screens
Stretched over our hearts.

Stretched tight
Tight enough to suffocate.

Green screens that show us what
We want to see.

What we want each other
To be.

And it's easy to suffocate in the
Green screens they put on us.

But before you tear that fabric off
Keep one thing in mind.

You keep the editing program somewhere
Deep inside your mind.

And you're the one splicing the pictures
For everyone you meet.

And that's harder to uninstall than
What we put over our chests.

Editing my thoughts;
A spoonful of porridge in one hand,
a pen in the other

My two main forms of sustenance;
One for the body,
The other the mind

A bite turns into a meal,
A written word into an expression of 'soul'.
The primordial biological urge is constant

Without the food I would not have the strength to pick up the pen;
Without the pen I would have no desire to eat.
Their unison might be the only thing keeping me in motion

Long may it go on.