My mind is filled with noise.

Sometimes the sounds of music,
Symphonies and orchestras.

But other times the sounds of failure.
Lack of accomplishment.

There are times when my mind is so intent
That I ensure my eating habits are not bent.

That I don't overeat, overindulge or have a treat.
Eat ice cream, and you will surely feel the heat.

The wrath of negative thoughts as they endlessly grow,
My mood dips into a bottomless low.

It's been a long battle, "I should be over it by now"
But sometimes those thoughts insist I'm a cow

I'll continue to fight to change my mind
And change its noise to a more melodic kind.

Silver streams of light pour over me as I stand (rigid),
fabric billowing like current behind.
The Bull circles, muscles like rippling stone
(waits to pounce, o' tenacity).

A histrionic roar splits the sky,
like a makeshift engine revived.
All gears moving,
grinding,
calling for oil to soothe its aching joints.
Precious onyx glistens from within sunken sockets.

Every nerve ending tenses,
bracing for incoming attack.
We dance a dangerous tango,
of clashing swords and strange waves,
of instinct and desire.

I see him, recognize my fate
within the void that croons its siren song.
He sees me, accepts the nebulous pull
between us.
For the first time, he is both prey and predator,
pirouetting for asylum and control.
War god he is,
hunter he knows;
but I am Beast Tamer,
am Gazelle with dragon's breath.

The curtain falls and the Bull dives,
disappearing
behind the crimson like a napping flame.

Combat....

though morbid in nature, there is a sense of beauty....

for example -
the bullet and it's chamber
the slickness of steel, and the power of the trigger
which together correlates the symphony of motion
from the time the trigger is pulled, to the
daunting escape of a bullet, and then finally to the ******* of it's victim.....

Quite morbid... yet hauntingly beautiful.....

Then come's the bullets quintessential cohorts

The Chemical and The Armored Car (a Tank)

The brutal barrage of steel cartage
crashing into unstable masonry
then the soothing smog of golden mustard gas...

The echoed shrieks, the violent shakes,
the ****** eyes and mucus filled noses
whose violent episodes finally conclude
when the eyes of death stare back at them...

Quite morbid.... yet hauntingly beautiful....

The finally... how can we forget the noble foot soldier?
his footsteps, silent to the earth....

out of the hysteria and chaos
two men, two weapons, and a whirlwind of emotion  
nationalistic pride, paranoid fear, and  scattered  tranquility...

A sign, as is to say....
"I don't want to fight, but I have to..."

Which all correlates in the ****** of the bayonet
a twinkle of blood, and then finally the gentle weeps...

Quite morbid.... yet hauntingly beautiful....

Dakness set's in
It found me again
Sheets of crystal white
Where I wage my fight
I can't even write
The papers to wet
And it's not sweat
My mind is not fit
F**k this ****

So tired of this ****** war
So tired of the lossing score
I'm afraid there is no way to win
I've tried so hard again and again
So the battle rages on
Until I am all the way gone

The Dummocraps and RepubLIE-CONs
Are engaged in a devastating war.
The RepubLIE-CONs hate everyone
The Dummocraps hate decisions more.
While the RepubLIE-CONs are engaged
In selling away the public’s rights,
The Dummocraps fight among themselves
And bring confusion to the fight.

So, the RepubLIE-CONs don’t need
To bother tearing Dummocraps down,
They just stand back and watch while
Dummocraps knock each other around.
Any effort the Dummocraps try to make
Ends on a pathetically useless note
Because over half the Dummocraps
Don’t even bother to go and vote.

The RepubLIE-CONs, on the other hand
Have an insane, but vocal minority
That are paid very well to do as told
By an even smaller, rich minority.
So, a country that is mentally lazy
And generally stupid in the bargain,
Lets itself get tangled up in lies
Propaganda and obfuscating jargon.

It’s all really that easy, it seems
When you look at what is true.
The voters in this country feel
That voting is too hard a thing to do.
So, they sit on their ***** and then
Complain at every law they pass
That robs them of their place in life
And destroys all but the upper class.

What traces of life lives in the mind?
Is it the good, the bad, or the ugly this time?
I survive on the expectation that you'll still be there,
But knowing what you've chosen.
This parts left unstable,
Either true or untrue.
I don't know,
And remaining in such tears me so.
So what choice remaining do I choose?
And what in the end will I lose?
This is the battle of my minds refuge.

to those who say
war is a battle fought with weapons and threats
oh how lucky you are
to not know what it's like having a war in your head

I build up the walls
all around
to prevent their words
from bringing me down

to those who say
war is a battle fought with weapons and threats
oh how lucky you are
to not know what it's like having a war in your head

it's all over now
they have gotten in
oh my hopeless head
the demons win

to those who say
war is a battle fought with weapons and threats
oh how lucky you are
to not know what it's like having a war in your head