Meaningful connection.

5 seconds for thought.

Don't rush.

5 seconds for thought.

Contemplate.

5 seconds for thought.

Speak. Express. Connect from the soul.

5 seconds for thought.

We are more than words.

Getting close to escape, nearing the curb,
Sharp high heels, a statue silhouette,
She's daddies little girl, heavily insured,
Forget the pay day, "tough life regret."

She'll carry on, sit in a velvet chair,
Keep the rock solid cement stare,
Backed by societies interest air,
She'll pick up where daddy left off,
Even if he has to make it harder
If she chooses to follow here own path,
She'll be the spark, the fire starter,
On her way "nowhere," "gods own wrath."

She'll be a little princess, her training starts today,
Give them a dollar, she'll save it for a rainy day,
And the moment she "feels threatened" dad will pray,
It's just a hobby to force the jacket when she's cold,
To teach her she's got to wear pink, do as she's told.

Daddies given her everything, or she can be the one
Who holds the weight, she'll know she's been disowned,
She'll work off all of the hate-a silhouette-now all alone,
A marionette who's lost-strings-clipped-without a home.

Better off to be herself than living off of "humble pie" rich stash,
She'll be living a happy life, be herself, no strings attached...

Apparently,
one cannot eat
in the comforts of her own home.
Oh, yes, That's right.
It's not her's.
It's 'her's'.
She, the devil in disguise,
the one who commands you to cower at her mighty might,
the narcissism oozing out of her pores.

Oh no.
I'm sorry.
I literally just described every narcissistic villain mother figure out there.
Shall I start again?

Alright.

When mad at somebody else,
you're her best friend.
While yelling her heart out,
she asks you to join.

You do it,
because it feels good.
Feels good that the monster's accepted you,
so you pretend.

you say a few things,
sneer a little,
watch her smile,
in approval.

but when the time comes, and she's mad at you-
everything in the past,
is used against you.

You can't even defend yourself,
since it's all true,
you did say those things,
yes. you.

as of right now, my hand's a sweltering into an ugly red hue

marks on the back of my arm,
they're going to scar.

but it's not the physical one that's going to stay the longest,
but rather the words,
the blood running after the hurt.

But every time.
she brings me back to her side again.
every time.



                                                        ­    -YYC

when do i miss you the most?
when the air conditioner is freezing cold?
or i just burnt breakfast because i got caught up kissing you good morning ?
or when i can't let go of you and its 11:30am and we've already missed the chance to get donuts at the drive thru?
I never thought i'd actually miss you.

I’ve always been told to be myself
To be honest
To be real.
But no one seems to be ready for the real me.
I open my body up and my secrets come pouring out like bats from a cave racing towards the light.
But they turn to dust as you look upon them.
You tell me,
That was too much,
Hold back
You’re being too open
Too honest
Too raw.
You’re scaring people away.
They don’t like you being too vulnerable.
It’s weird, and uncomfortable.
But how can I be both?
How can I be both open and closed?
Enough, but not too much?
I only know love on one setting.
I don’t do things halfway.

The Product:

All that I see,
Are faces of fake people,
Scurrying around,
In search of something real.

“It is not yours it is mine!
I take that which is mine!
I keep what is mine!
I consume what is mine!

Get away from it is mine!
I don’t share what is mine!
I don’t give what is mine!
What is mine is mine!”

False eyelashes!
Make up kits!
L-shaped couches!
And television sets!
They’ve become the things they own.
The things they own, own them!

You are not your job!
You are not your salary!
You are not your wallet!
You don’t need this ****!

****** into the tv,
The product becomes you.
You do whatever,
It tells you to do:
“This is what you want!
This is what you need!
You just got to have it!
You won’t be happy without it!”

You think it will sedate your hunger for happiness,
But you come out unsatisfied.
You try to impress people you don’t know,
Or even care about you;
Too caught up on the outside.

“Happiness must be taken,
And I will take mine!”
A false idea of happiness,
It is not happiness unless it is given!

All the products you see on the tv,
Are begging you to buy your own slavery!

You are the product!

**** your money,
**** your property,
I hope you choke on it!

this is definitely,
not right for me...
even if sometimes,
I want it to be.
it might be true,
that this is what's easy,
but I feel so hollow:
I feel empty.
I can hear your voice,
you sound so giddy.
your elation points out,
my misery.

when i lay down,
i don't think of you,
i think of him:

and i am sorry.

I am a
No good
No-one
and you can't
Tell me
Otherwise.

In the end
I've found
All that really
Matters
Is who you were to them,
A year before you died.

Because I put a bullet where I should have put a helmet,
Along with Honesty and Sincerity,
And all their friends and Virtues.

Rebirth is easy, it's living that gets tricky.

Reborn as a sinner:
Love me,
Hate what I do
Best.

What I do best
Is watch you fall to pieces
Limb from crushed bone limb,
And what I do best
Is write sad songs
That I hide away in a corner of my
Closet(ed mind).

When you die,
They remember you with flaws they had of their own.
They make it about them,
And their pain,
As though being a martyr
Could actually bring you back.

(As though a martyr
Could actually come back)

So call me Apathy,
That'll be my new name.
A lack of empathy
No pitying sympathy.

Because I cannot seem to make you realize,
I do not empathize
Nor will I ever sympathize
With you no-good
Nice guys.

I'm a bad guy
What can I say,
I'm the villain, the antagonist,
I was put here as a test--

I went wrong,
I went far beyond wrong,
I took a wrong turn onto the wrong path in the wrong forest
Where I just don't belong.

So goodbye for the night, and maybe the next few,
But remember my number not name, as only the living seem to do.
So just remember these words, from time to time:
I am a lack of the holy seven--
You see, in place and in honor, I make nine.