a last shot into unknown,
dive deep into the soul less ink,
only to impart your own,
perhaps to emerge victorious?

imbue the stale cruelty of the inanimate
with the vivid cruelty of the soul,
bleed unto the mocking desolute canvas,
drawing blood from mindy & body in whole.

a last shot with broken minds,
write words that are not your own
for crazed usbthe hand that the soul hides behind
a battle of thoughts, then all alone.

Was it really anything at all?
These things I write, I can't quite trust them.
Yet I can't trust what I don't write.
It's so easy to get lost
In the _ of  _

I have forgotten what
it feels like to be
loved.
It is so odd and
most definitely sad,
as I still know so
substantially what it
feels like to
love.
My existence is so
unrequited,
for even when you
again shared your
body with me,
even though two years
time had passed since
our last dance,
the wall you built remained intact.
I searched every surface
in hopes of finding a crack
in the stone that,
with some effort,
could finally help me to
topple the blockade.
But your love,
or what I have (probably pathetically)
convinced myself
exists on the other side,
it is as well-protected and
well-hidden as ever.
So I soldier on,
fighting my losing battle,
feeling love for you,
the love from which
I am doomed to be destroyed,
shot down, blood staining the
ground
beneath me,
no shield of your love
with which my body,
my heart,
could remain intact.

Fervent warriors come upon a field,
A trickle of men storming the grassy abyss,
prepared with shields upon their hearts
and weapons ready at the finger tips.
Their hearts oscillating to the war cries
and to the sounding drummer's march.
A prevalent threat casting shadows overhead;
Awaiting the freedom bell and the open air,
the men charge with their pens cocked
and their ink basins filled to the brim.

The first snow has fallen; oh how it sparkles in the sun!

All she wants to do is run around and have fun.

Yet, there is work to be done.

This battle she's fighting seems won.

But, no one can tell

from fear and pain, she runs.

indefatigable fools
fighting currents
Acting all different
just to stand out
Arguing with reality
frightened by normality
Majority ain't got time
for this purposeless rebellion.
Tryin to impress with a
dead dude's philosophy
but got no original thoughts.
Taking big like some prodigy
What a sad parody
Nothing but mindless beans
looking for a way outa
responsability
Social rejection
Drug addiction
blaming side affects of
anxiety and depression
Left behind
bruised and beaten
People shout, "just shut up
Sit back in your sadle
You ain't surviving
this battle;  Life
It hands out punches
just roll with it
go with the flow
No need to stay low, tho
Let 'em know
who's the real you"
But incorrigible fools
ignoring advise
Not worth ego sacrifice
they see no alternative but
a prideful stride to suicide