In the hour
between sheep and wolf
I wait

with your words
burned  
in my skin  

and my soul
longing
for more

Isn't it funny how his blood smells like his blade.
It must be the metal, quantum level the same.
Every possibility in time lead to this line.
A faceless man writing this rhyme.
In a world so messed up he thinks it's his fault.
Turning to drugs, he lost all his hope.
And now sits alone worrying how to cope.
Can't stop smoking dope.
He never visioned he'd be happy,
And it shows.

Welcome to the execution of my mind
Let's open it up and see what we find
Hand me a light it's so very dark inside
The agony seems to be amplified
In here it's so very far from bliss
The demons are starting to hiss
Watch out the blackness is starting to seep out
The sorrow is starting to pour and spout
We must hurry now or we will become infected
Buy what has been inflicted
Killing this poisonous mind we must
To save all of us

I don't believe you.

I don't subscribe to your thoughts
and the words that trickle out
of your head, to fall ******
on the pavement and disappear
down the gutter when
the rain comes.

I hope the rain comes soon.

A raging, rampant monsoon
to flood me dry and clean away
the raw, red finger-prints your diction
imprinted, a blood-red necklace ringing my throat.

I don't care for your intonation.

You, heedless of the power
of speeches simple sounds that decimate
veins and rupture explosive, ebony vessels,
setting me adrift on Moses' sea.

But, despite all, I reply in kind.

And
careless words leave me;
cutting you open.