Soft strung on mourning dew
Moon-lit nights stung, chasing you.
Evanescent upon thin waking lids
The pages burnt with nitrogen.

The aching echo, overbearing hollow
Dusty ash. An after taste.
Not tear enough to hardly swallow-
Or stomach left to try to sate.

The pillars-statues-all in our name
Bleached out hero's in history's game.
Naught plight enough to recall how human
Our blood-our tears-stained our face.

We legends born from pleading minds-
Broken spirits and battered limbs.
Who seek to finally cease the crime-
To bring back the light-wash out the dim.

Give our strength-are cast in shadow
To drive the ghost that haunt the land
Back to their own, bleak bloodied meadow
With our hearts-grasped tightly-in their hands.

The rest is but a washed out vision.
The lull of peace saturates the land.
But you and I have been ripped open and swallowed
As the lion now scarified to the lamb.

Rules do not make something
Right or wrong
Talking heads do not
Make something
Right or wrong
Fake gods
Do not make
Something
Right or wrong
Traditions
Just because
It was
Always done
Does not make
Something
Right or wrong
Your law
Does not make
Something
Right or wrong

Draw the line.
Keep telling yourself you know where your feet tread.
What if that fragile balance fractures?
Which side would you choose?
Would you handle going against yourself? Against the very vibrations passing through your body?
Or would you risk shredding what little peace of mind is left?
The cold metallic feel brushes against your hands. Do you pull the trigger?
I can't contain the possibilities, especially when I reminisce.
That night I ran, barely dodging scattered wooden chairs.
An echo of your temptations beconed me further.
How thrilling to live in between the creases of each lie.
How ******* to let the chills of danger spread a road on your skin.
To let those words touch my lips as they splatter out and run with the wind; completion.
An affair of love with the more plausible mistake.
You reek of danger but my heart found a home in fear, and so you must taste sweet.
I have found the cure to failure; throw yourself at an inevitable loss.
I want to hurt, shred and slash.
I want to rule and to rule,
my kingdom on pillars of empathy and psychosis.
Keep your enemies close, but keep your addictions closer

I've a question
Needing resolve;
It's not as big
As the start of the universe;
Or the existence of the netherlands.
It's not a To be or not to be,
Or anything about the Papacy,
Or the question of the Trinity;
Or any other religious decree.
It's not a question of good or bad,
Or why I'm here,
Or why we're sad.
I'm not asking about nucleur waste,
Or our desire to travel outer space.
Those are big ones
I couldn't ask,
I can't answer ones so vast.
No, this itch I have
That needs a scratch,
This ***** of an itch
That archs my back:
What should it be.
What will I make,
A caf or decaf?
My great debate.

When a man gave a ride to a stranger, she wanted to perform *******.
But he is a gentleman who has high moral standards so he said no.
He said no because it was sinful and dangerous.
When he said no, she got mad and began to cuss.
Even if he didn't have morals, he would've said no because of the possibility of a car crash.
And he figured that a woman who would do that to a stranger had to be a piece of trash.
He pulled over and sat her out on the side of the road.
She was screaming cuss words and was mad enough to explode.
Morality is something that this gentleman doesn't lack.
If I ever meet that man, I'll give him a pat on the back.