Justified demise of another set of longing eyes,
is it that I'm comprised of a cacophony of longing lies
telling me I'm no good,
that no one should love me, how could they?
A roughly carved shape of a soul and the hole left by selfish doubt
a window to a world of reasons reasoning why I should be left out.

The continual fear that love is a trap designed to erode the calloused halls of frozen walls that carry reassuring tones that the cold is consistent,
that warmth is insistent on melting our walls and making survival an emotional chore when we could just avoid it all. And yet despite the comforting embrace of psychological hypothermia, we want more.

I am the king of a crumbling castle,
a hassle to hold but I'm old and I'm scared
of the bold young world that sits around me
surrounding my vision, emissions of life
like entities born in flame, that drift astray
from parents ensnared in the glare of a television screen.

Break, my fingers can't stop
the Shake, fight the sandman
that Face, a grin of pure evil
don't Trace, the lines of the devil
he Takes, the girl who smiles
her Brace, the teeth are wild
and Stage, your own undoing
a Mage, a mood is brewing
a Rage, a storm is on
the Waters, he's coming he's coming
don't Flaunt her.
It's you that's running your time, tap tap
bleeding it out like wine and water
a rose he dines alongside, it flows
come gather your manly pride, but you're froze.

Hold your breath. Explode. Put it to the test.
Sleep. Rest. Dive. Go deep.
Must break the sheath. Deny you're weak.
The futures bleak, for those who hide.
Those who wait. Grate your teeth.
They who sleep, buried deep
Them that run, find your fun in
what got you running to begin with, the
Revolutionscaryness
risk of unawaryness
chase the chance to advance
and romance the possibility of fruitful fairy tales.

The Dungeon           Calls
The Dungeon           sings
In wincing                tones
of wicked                  things,
the entrance             looms
The doorway's          dead
The wailing               wins
and claims your head.

You run away,
you don't look back.
You know what's peeking through the cracks.
Not one to bare the light of day.
It waits, beyond
while you decay.

The Dungeon howls.
The dungeon's sweet.
The dungeon send you off to sleep.

It's safe, this place
where you reside.
Out there you fear
sunlight collides
with ghastly skin
and telling eyes
so let them get on
with their lives.

Do you ever get deathly afraid
of your heart exploding?
Maybe you haven't felt like yourself
and you worry maybe you're nearing your end.
You sit up at night thinking about
this phantom illness that chills you.
You crank the heat, but you shiver in fear
at the thought of leaving this world.
In times of sadness, you thought
it might be okay to be dead.
That in comparison to the suffering
darkness would make it all okay.
But as you think this sudden change
could by some percentile mean your death.
You long for all the years ahead of you
and shed tears for your children you'll never meet.
You cry in terror until finally spared by sleep,
and maybe feel better when you awake.
You may even get some long-term relief
by way of some doctor assuring you that you're fine.
But it will only be a matter of time
before your anxiety convinces you yet again
that you are not long for this world.
And you feel stupid
for essentially worrying over nothing.
But you do hope with all of your being
in spite of past suicidal thoughts
in spite of the heartache you've experienced...

You hope with all of your being
that you might just manage to live a long, happy life.

Health anxiety.

You google one thing and it says another.

You have a headache and it says its cancer.

Countless trips to your family doctor.

The test was negative, you will recover.

Everything is fine but you’re feeling awkward.

Maybe everything IS fine, perhaps you’re like an actor.

Acting out the symptoms you should get an oscar.

Sue me for feeling like somethings not right, get me a lawyer.

To everyone around me, i’m like a destroyer.

I need to rebuild my life from being an over reactor.

Theres a fine line between normal worry and anxiety.

Theres a fine line between being labelled from society.

Theres a fine line between being sick and being healthy.

But even those who are wealthy are not protected from being unhealthy.

And thats where this fear has developed.

Knowing the highest of classes still are not protected.

CEO’s can get cancer.

The president can get Alzheimer's.

Investors can get tumors.

Is it really so peculiar that I fear that this will occur.

Occur in me? Effect my family? Increase mortality?

Maybe i’m not a clinical case of a hypochondriac, but I feel that sometimes I can be.

Maybe i’m not a maniac, but I know I over worry.

These thoughts don’t keep me up at night, but when I’m sick I always think...

What if its this, what if its that, what if this thing can **** me.

But I guess thats just normal anxiety.

Evolutionary instinct.

Our human kind won’t go extinct.

I don’t need to talk this out with a shrink.

So this cold is lasting more than a few days, maybe i’ll just go to a doctor.

Stop fearing that this is the end, see someone and you’ll feel better.

You can get sick from being stressed, or even change from weather.

Its not strange if you catch a cold, no need to worry it won’t last forever.

When you feel like the doctor is wrong, please try to remember.

A runny nose isn’t cancer, forgetting to check the mail isn't alzheimers, and a headache isn’t a tumor.

Those are all just internet rumours.

Google isn’t your doctor.

Worrying isn’t hypochondria, no need to add that to your self diagnoses list.

While disease is a real thing, worrying is the real *****.

Living a hypochondriacs dream,
Because my pain is one that is real.

Everyone says I'm fine,
But I know my own body because my body is mine,
Life developing as a double exposure,
In two places at once and contained in a tight enclosure,
Here I am with no sense of closure,

I will dream of running away,
Throwing my possessions away,
Put my worry to rest,
Before I am the one put to rest.