Your grace is wasted on a ******* like me
I can’t accept your forgiveness
Because I haven’t forgiven myself
Don’t make it look so easy
No need to walk the higher ground
I can see you ready to take a fall
The hate that’s hidden is weighing you down
Don’t spare me the rod
And let your bitterness sit and fester
Give me what I deserve
Some say I’m gonna burn for all I've done
And I don’t believe there’s anyone to follow through
But sometimes I wish they were right
An eternity of suffering might be enough
To fill this *******’s bottomless well of self-loathing

my soul is a chamber
in which a candle sits.
a strong flame burned,
which kept me alive.

however, week after week,
the water filled the chamber,
putting the flame out,
leaving me cold and lifeless.

the water would dry,
and the chamber was empty,
except for a single ember
that glowed in the dark.

I lit matches every day
until I saw a spark.
now it fiercely blazes,
stronger than it's ever been.

I walk along a trapeze,
palms sweaty, legs shaking,
refusing to fall either way.
to go left is to fall into a fire
for a life which burns my bones.
the people will smile upon me,
oblivious to the ash surrounding them.
to go right is to fall into soft trees.
the leaves caress my skin,
but the people vanish like smoke,
and I fall to the ground.
the exact middle is survival
until I reach the other side.

No matter what I eat or what I drink
All the vices and distraction.

Nothing can get rid of the bitter taste that you left behind.

Your promises and words leave their marks on my mind in the early hours of the morning.

Even after you've cut yourself off from me for my sake.

In the dawn of another sleepless night spent wasting away.
Only thinking about you.

My tired state can't even bear to dream, but I do anyway.

Of all the time we could've spent learning to love and uplift one another.

If only the both of us didn't have troubles as painful as the burn marks left behind by the coffee that spilled on my hand.

-Kore

They never tell you how much the cuts burn

The way it feels like cigarettes being put out on every slit you’ve created

Arms, wrists, shoulders, legs all raging in a blaze of boiling red

You think you would get used to the sensation, now that the cuts have become habit

But even through the numbness, it always creeps up, burning

Are there any eyes that won’t burn
When it comes their turn
To be watchful throughout the sea of lies
To watch over a child that cries

Crying for the father that never returned
Or that rejected any stone turned
Will this children’s eyes burn
Because of the tears, or because it’s now their turn

Their turn to watch smoke paint the sky
Turn to watch the seas rise
Their time to watch their kind’s demise
Burn from watching other tearing eyes

Will the eyes of the wise be blinded?
When he has no more wisdom and has to be reminded
Will the eyes of mothers turn to ashes in the air
When they see the world they left is only more despair

Will a white dove cry
When it can’t see the sky
And its kin have turned grey
And there’s nothing we could say
To make them stay
So it’s now the turn to our eyes to burn and cry
For there are no doves in the sky

a dance, a waltz
captivatingly intense
like a dice being thrown
and the adrenaline of expense

what's more enthralling
to the onlooker's eye
than the blood red streamers
shooting up to the sky?

and what's on the mind
of a mad, callused arsonist's
other than the pleasure
of an embrace of a goddess?

my friend, its the chaos
and the rush of the game
its the sting of her arms
wrapping round once again

Even the truest of intentions
Can be burned to the ground

blinding aether sun
burnt grasses and branches cry
as ashen giants flight