You're so good at it.
Using the people I love to leave me,
by myself and lonely
but you forget about something.
That I'm not that weak.
That I can stand on my own knees.
You can use all your dirty tricks,
but still I won't move my feet.
Those people that left are toxic
I still have my own true self
standing behind me.
are nothing to me
Who am i to fly you to the sun,
Where the stars sit and watch us burn?
Who am i to take you to the sea,
Where leviathan is supremacy?
Where else can i make your home,
A place where angels and demons roam?
Where can we find a safe hole-
A place to hide your precious soul?
Sometimes we can hear the ocean calling,
Sometimes its a still small voice whispering,
The voice Dear VIRGINIA heard- yes the troll,
We'll forever miss her- oh bless her soul;
What will the departed say of u and i?
Will they receive us in the sky?
What will we see when look the devil in the eye,
Will it be hate, compassion, remorse or a battle cry?
Shall we see the pentagram when the sun king is born?
Will there be hope for the broken and the torn?
Will we hold hands and dance in the vineyard of Jezebel?
The vineyard which Naboth refused to sell.
What if we just sit beneath the stars tonight,
And watch our enemies burn in their fight?
And ask the moon to shine very bright,
So that none would be out of sight?
The world is in so much terror,
Anguish of a unending labour,
Children of perdition is all she brings forth,
Many without substance, without worth:
Gather your friends as we cross the red sea,
Let all those who say we can't, stand and see;
The sun and her friends shall stand still,
While we fulfill our hearts utmost will.
Thrust fists at your enemy
Attack best at dawn
There is a quickness in retribution
Starvation in the hunger
of your vengeance
Grudge felt in the hearts of both
But with wisdom you will find
that the damage goes much further
When you learn to do nothing
When you simply let your enemy
carry their remorse
residing in all of us is a false prophet
whispering words that bleed the heart of torment
leaching the mind of rationality and grit
tainting the soul with an ashen sky that is
hovering over a lagoon where the most beautiful of souls have gone astray;
leaving what was once iridescent bleak and grey.
becoming a false prophet – alas! the mind is;
following it is the gullible heart's murmurings
taking the soul to a continent far away,
seeking isolation in the crowd of new endings.
rejoicing, the false prophet is.
my internet history would make you choke.
i don't like
you've turned me into:
i am unpleasant. yes --
i'm smudged crimson
on a castaway lover's lips;
i linger, interrupted.
i am steadfast.
my feet stand in the other direction,
refusing to budge entirely.
can you not see me
-- or have you refused to
acknowledge i'm there?
i am demanding.
i've got you by the jaw,
glaring you straight in the eye.
(i may as well be throttling a brick fucking wall.)
i've built you a
in my head... but i'm
not in charge of eviction.