her love is tainted
barely there at all
she's cold and jaded
her back against the wall
always on the defensive
with no intent to listen
shes stubborn and stuck up
and can't stop *******'
and if she wasn't my mother
there'd be no way to tolerate
her aura of negativity
the way she spews hate
the way others brush it off
with an understanding nod
after all she has God...

It's nice to see you again,
My old friend.

It's been a while since we met.
As far as I remember,
I'm the one who pushed you away.
You wanna know why?
Because it seems like your presence,
Slowly destroying every part of me.

But I can still recall the good old days,
When it seems like no one's here for me,
I know you're only two steps behind.
You know me more than anyone else.
But old friend,
Why does it feel like you have dark secrets?

Now I know.
Naïve minds, young people.
These are your victims.
You became also their friend,
When it seems like they don't have one.
But if you're a good friend,
Then why did you let them
To slit their wrists?
Is this how you keep someone at peace?

Old friend,
Can you hear their voice,
Screaming and asking for help?
How about those cries,
When they locked themselves into the bath room,
As they mourn to their despair life?
You're a great pretender:
You pretend like you care
When in reality, you really don't.

That's why I hate you.
A friend known by everyone
Suddenly became an enemy.
You ruined minds,
You ruined dreams,
A friend who felt home
But became disaster of many lives.

And now,
I can see you here again, in front of me,
Wanting to have place on my mind.
Now I know your deep dark secrets,
I don't want to be one of your victims.
I may have a vulnerable heart,
I may be naïve,
But you can’t control me,
As I'm tougher than what you think.

Good bye, old friend.
Our dark thoughts,
Our own demons.

It will do its best to hurt you, twist your emotions, break you financially, mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually. It wants you to suffer. To break you before it can 'make' you. Snared between its gnarly teeth it has no remorse. Until the very end, it will bite in and grind, chewing on your patience until every day is simply the same and you beg for mercy. Recalling memories like postage stamps to a bygone era, days fold themselves away into neat envelopes, ready to be relived both now and never.  

Those who are sensitive know the score. That life is a game that sometimes they don't feel like playing. At times you win, at times you lose. The thrill of the ride is in the journey; that first rush of life that flows through your veins and down the drain. After that, routine is a mundane affair that will **** you if it gets the chance. By keeping you breathing.  

A victim to circumstance, you find yourself trying to take control where there is none. Frustration sunsets kick in and scream for resistance. But still, the routine. Average life, average dreams. Mr and Mrs Grey only become free to express themselves sexually as every other form of creativity is strictly banned. Colour an illusion, playing with love. There is shyness. Uncertainty where there should be knowing. TV drama. Break-ups. Celebrity divorce. Iraq. Iran. Paid for wars. ****** and delirious children. Emaciated women. Sexuality, a given. Robots on stage. Narcissism all the rage. Fear in fashion. Outrage but no action. We parade our pain online. Wax and wane. Reliving youth, former glory. And all the time we wonder where it ends. Begging for another story.

Back at the shore, on my own this time,
I'm free now, yes, but alone.
I'm left with nothing,
No pain,
No rhyme,
On a beach less sand than stone.


The tide still licks the shore for crumbs,
But nothing hides beneath.
No voice calls out in dark, feigned scorn,
No stoic secretly cries for release.


The world outside worked magic for real,
It promised us strength in identity,
But now I'm just beginning to feel,
There's actually something wrong with me.


I can't go back until I know,
That your death has served some purpose.
What chance is there, to survive and grow,
When even ghosts can hurt us?


"Perhaps", I said, "it's all unspoken", aloud,
To myself, discovering,
How words can wound but silence drowned,
A heart that's still recovering.

I write songs about negative things. I write about it because I need to take those things and put them on paper. I have to do that because I'm taking it out of myself and putting it away. Not away in the back of my mind, but away as in away from me for good. It's the way I deal with things. I don't really write songs about happiness or joy. I don't have to deal with those things, it's there. I don't have to get them out of me, I want them here. I'm not focusing on negative things, I'm focusing on being happy and joyful all the time that I can. Don't get me wrong, I'll probably write songs about positive things in the future. Although, right now, somehow, negative is rhyming better than positive.