Over-run by Christian perfectionists, all I can think of is ***,
Someone please save me from myself, save me from this hell,
Let me be different or chop them off, I won't be needing them,
I'll just make them go away and disappear, I'll need a knife as well.

My short and useless life will be over soon anyway,
I was certainly given enough guilt I can not hide,
No one will want to be my friend, not day to day,
Not if I'm the one that's got to be the eccentric "lie."

In the end the rest of us are stuck in this abyss,
The one where it's an evil thought to let nature grow,
Allow her to flourish (and why should we let her live?)
To be the one to sew the seeds, but we will never know.

It's a tricky path I'd rather have never been put on,
When I was a kid I thought everything was fine,
Then I grew up and found out I was different,
My train is on the tracks, I'll never make it on time.

And so I ask the world to answer, everyone just laughs,
They tell me I'm going to need to move out of the country,
I'd give anything to leave, but there's no clear set path,
Maybe I should have been born into a different family?

So my friends wish me well, my unborn children already dead,
I don't want to be this way, carry on and sewn shut in tears of red,
I'll be back again to ask for help and they will all just cringe,
I guess they've made certain that I shall be the "embodiment of sin."

my hand could pass
through the table
if I pressed hard enough
my feet
through the floor
I just want to melt
until I disappear

You pull me closer
with your magical love
like a magician
doing his brilliant magic

I give up,  disappear,
lose my mind
as if I am yours, for
finale in your room

Why is it that we are always wanting time to pass quickly?
We're constantly watching the clock, waiting for the minutes to fly by
But we never look at what it really represents
At how every minute that passes
Is a minute of your life that won't ever come back
Can't ever be recovered
As it is lost in the hands of a clock that is forever ticking
Counting down every second
Every minute
Every hour of the rest of our lives.
Each time we look at a clock
Watching the hands slowly tick by
We never do realise the meaning of what it is actually counting down to.
For it isn't really counting that one meeting you don't want to go to
Or that single maths period that feels like it will never end.
No.
That clock is actually counting down towards the final moments of the best times of our lives
The ones that we take advantage of without even realising it
Whether it's our years in school,
Or the last few years of our childhood.
The final few days you have left to spend with a loved one,
Or the true bliss of your first real relationship.

You see, through the good times and the bad
The smiles, the tears and the laughs
The times that you never really want to end,
And the ones you wish were over in a heartbeat;
This clock will be forever in the back of your mind
Counting down the hours, minutes, seconds
Towards the end.
And it's only then that you realise
That you wish to turn it back and start again.
But you don't know how
And those last few hours that you have left
Won't be spent looking at a clock.
But instead will be used to look over every single moment of your life
From the beginning to the end.

And it's only then, that the clock will finally stop ticking.

Sometimes, we all need to escape.
To free ourselves from the burdens of those around us.
To distance ourselves..
To fly away...
Disappear...
So we hide ourselves in playing sight.
Lose ourselves in sepia clouds of unspoken lust,
Floating..


Weightless above the world below.
Not to be "better" than the ones beneath,
but to forget they ever existed.
Glancing over your shoulder just in time,
Watching them wither away,
Suffocate in the dust you left behind,
Like moths wreathed in flame.

And you do forget,
You soar to that special place,
Your haven, surrounded by two way mirrors,
Walls where all can see
But none can watch.
And everything is perfect.
Until you come down,
And the mirrors shatter into red hot shards
That tear into your flesh
in a way only reality can.
The rush is gone.
your haven, diminished.
Remnants of your egotistical ****** lie strewn about,
In the form of smoldering wings
On a dust caked floor.....


Somewhere in the rubble


The ones you escaped...




Are still gasping for air.

With each passing year I'm haunted
by the ghost of who I once was.
More lost with every passing day,
less me than I was yesterday;
and in a flash, I fear
I'll disappear.

They follow me around
They cling to my very soul
The darkness they are made of...
I don't have any control
I can turn the lights off
I can watch them disappear
But when the light turns on
They are always right here...

Some say that time doesn't heal
but some say
they do some magic trick
and disappear
but deep down inside, the scars are still here
you might be hurt
but you are still you
and that is even truer than true