Hi, my name is Cole.
Grab a shovel and we'll deepen the hole where I've buried my goals.
They try to blame my soul for the peril untold,
Though, great fortune most of their lives do hold.
Molded after my father I was destined to be cold.
Alone, broken, I folded.
Unspoken moments in silence are just like King Midas,
The opportunity’s gold, but there's still violence way down, deep inside us.
When tribulations unfold, so does my situation.
Find me by myself, impatient,
On a narcotic vacation, wasted.
Taste the medicine I force upon myself on a daily basis.
This explanation only strengthens my self esteem’s annihilation,
So pray damnation is what I need to keep some kind of exhilaration.
Drawn away from elation, I take the bait and go on strike against my ****** up creation.
When I was 15, the world ended around me,
Cops and medics abounding,
The sight surrounding my plight, pathetic,
Regret was surmounting.
Twelve scars on my throat, they said the odds were astounding I made it, but who's counting?
(Plus the one on my stomach where the blood geyser was spouting)
Jaded.
Like intimate sentiments, death attached to me,
I learned how to live with it.
There was a time that this soul had a temple, now, just a tenement.
The second time I played God I succeeded in my ill intent,
Pronounced dead at the scene, my funeral was finally imminent.
Til I opened my eyes and the room was one I'm familiar with.
I was sure eleven Ambien would work for my benefit.
Why am I being kept alive?
It's like there's no possible end to it.
Multiple reasons as to why I am so sick of this living ****.
It's a given: derision and treason purged me of innocence.
I'm immersed in this intricate curse,
Coerced into impotence.
Teasin’ hearses became a profession,
Hurting became obsession,
Depression’s the path I traversed,
Along with aggression.
So you may have a few questions concerning
The wrath I possess.
And when I rise from the ash like Sylvia Plath I'll confess.  
When I emerge from disguise, the sociopath will profess
The explanation for suicide, and the urge to regress.

I hate the rain
...
..
.
  .
.
   .
.
It creates puddles and forces me to see my reflection

My head tends to hang low, eyelids carrying the weight of my regrets..
Head in smoke clouds from burning forests
Thunder in my mind, lighting the dark with it's temporary rumble and powering the deprecation machines

ah yes the DMs
.

Whirlwinds pick up old headlines
Tumbling and rolling inside my head


What's new, tell me something different


I hold a forbidden box
▪
Don't look inside or I might be embarrassed

□

Don't look inside or you might be annoyed

■

You might be scared
You might feel uncomfortable
You might like it

But this box is supposed to remain shut.

It's had enough rain inside it
And you shouldn't have to swim in this ocean of misery

I tried to build a floating home from these broken pieces

But it's just too much

You'd be better off getting in a makeshift ship and manually paddling away


Who could blame you













This island is remote for a reason









Covered in land mines and emotional traps

Don't get caught, lest you flood this small patch of ground further

My lips barely touch the surface


I long for that kiss, help me breath again

True apologies
Form in the heart
A warm hug
A thought-out letter
Or a string of humble words

To my family
To my friends
To a stranger
To God
To the earth

Then why can't I
Say sorry
To myself?
Simply because
I won't be forgiven

My attempts to make
You hate me only seem to
Make me hate myself