today it feels the same
and i won't break the chain
today I'm safe as I can be
but I know I won't get free
today the clouds aren't gone
and yet I know you'll come
I know but I won't believe
the pain in me is hard to relieve
it's hard to picture your eyes
but you're not like the other guys
tell me it won't feel the same
and that it's not me to blame

She is such a pretty girl
With such a pretty smile
Everyone loves the way
Her lashes curl

She's got ribbons in her hair
And a ring in her navel
Why she even has on
Matching underwear

Her look is smart
Her scent a distraction
Her Instagram pictures
Are a qualified thing of art

But here's the rub
Despite all the bells & whistles
The girl is a chocolate-box
An attractive cover

That will knock your socks off
Yet, there's nothing inside
She's absolutely empty
You'll discover

As artificial light reveals my name,
and sunlight falls asleep across the sky,
I whisper to the mirror without shame,
And into the reflection I will die.
The Other Side is quite alike to ours,
but details shift and warp beneath the light.
Look outside now, and where there should be stars,
The spirits crawl within the glossy night.
But still the blind will stumble in the blue,
Oblivious, the truth lies underneath.
But slowly now the dead will slither through,
and holes they leave inside of you sprout teeth.
So now the flames within will always burn,
Reflection holds you, never to return.

If it is all just an illusion
No objectivity exists
It’s all in our minds
Who says wrong or right is present?

Shots were shot inside your walls
by hands too hot to stop the fall
of bodies, wretched and angelic,
hanged and carefully laid upon your plains.

Deeds were done in the redbrick corners of your streets. Only mourners then remained in the memories of pain, and the folklore fear born by your command still stands to stain your hands.

Shots were shot to echo through the mountains. My idea of a summer death was real and, Alas, the trusting eyes of childish lies felt space-time tear and turned themselves to glass.

I cleaned my childhood home in honey light - a flight away from you, through pain. I fight your urge to overpower money and stand tall,
crouching low to scrub the stone floor of many childhoods' home.

My ears no longer scream in pain of nightmare visions, still seeing the shots you fired. Seeing your fire no more, I long for lore and love of mice. This year I'm under watercolour skies and listening to stories of light and newborn lies.