Somber as black and pure as white,
two are one at the end of the night
The isle is walked, vows are said,
tears are dripping from everyone's head
Lace is delicate as the wind,
flowing effortlessly over her skin
He grazes her like a blooming field,
admires all that she has to yield,
but hidden behind that veil she wears
is something he cannot seem to bear
The face revealed is not the same
as the one he seems to claim
to love as long as he may breathe
and love even more while six feet deep
The face he sees is one obscured
by premonitions he's once heard
He turns to the left to walk alone,
the isle that's meant for two to roam;

He journeys on his own to realize what just occurred:
he flipped the veil to witness his face plastered onto hers

Life is not hateful. Nature is.

A person can't make It happen so
he acts as a shark and moves without remorse, though
a mere ten second's contemplation
and emotional, intellectual understanding
of the things he, without sorrow, ignites in his wake,
would be enough to force his hand to
tie that well deserved noose and slip it around
his slimy neck and hang himself dead.
He, much like a snake, is deaf to the
screams of those he has bitten, and blind
to the ruin behind him. His one track mind -
his selfish mind - which blocks out all that his nature doesn't wish
for him
to acknowledge - does
for him
what is convenient
for him.
Eliminates the reality
for him.
That is his nature's wish.

I only love you
at night
when loneliness
fuels desire
and
desperation
replaces
rational thought

Your value is reflected
in an empty whiskey bottle
sideways
on the stained carpet

Funny how everything
is eventually
neglected

A cannibal of currency
You’re not yourself anymore.
Became your purse long ago,
Sense of self tied to coins
Of which you’ve never held.

Little man, little man,
where is your home?
The house on this hill
Just an empty shell
Painted like so much canvas.

There for the eyes of your peers
But your peers aren’t your friends
And your friends aren’t around
Tell me please, where did they go?

Little man, little man,
Do you hear the sound?
No one is calling your name
Where did they go
And where are they now
And why aren’t your friends in their homes?
Little man, little man
Do you hear the sound?
They’re making it plain as day.

You ate their income
Ate them of their house and their home.
A cannibal for currency-
Consumed all your friends,
Fat little pig on the hill.

Little man, little man
(You) can no longer ignore the sounds
Of ten thousand mouths
All hungry for you.

You ate their money
But you couldn’t stomach
The pure human spirit inside.
Now they have crawled back,
Out from the ghettos,
Starving and hungry for you.

Forced to eat each other,
You’ve all but raised cannibals,
But this time of flesh and of blood.
Little pig, little pig,
Can you hear the sound,
Or have you become deaf
To your own cries as well?

No one will miss you
You don’t have a home
Your friends became food
A long time ago.

(Die Geld von die Leute Sie Essen gekauft
Sie isst ihr Geld,
Mehr jeden Tag,
Kein Geld fur Essen
Sie isst Sich,
Jagd nach dem Hunger,
Fett kleiner Mann,
Jetzt der Jaeger ist Essen fur jeden Mund
Kleinen Schwein, Kleinen Schwein
Konnen Sie den ton horen?)*

Greasy lip smacks
Sound like ten thousand claps,
The only applause that you’ll ever hear.

Tell me what you saw from the front row
That was the problem
I was on the stage and didn’t ask you to join me
I was on top
You were on the bottom

Tell me how it looks from inside your eyes
Was I real to you
I didn’t feel that way very often
It was all an act
That much was true

Tell me if I’ve left the room empty enough
I may have left you a chair
I never did ask what you want me to do
It’s easier to pretend
It’s easier not to be there

Tell me about the reason you can’t hear me
I know you already said why
I just remembered the night you didn’t care
I said hello
You said goodbye

How should you feel when people find you super strong and extraordinary when, in reality and deep within you, you know you are slowly breaking apart?

Would and should their admiration be enough to inspire you and convince you to keep fighting?

How would you tell them that you are already at the brink of breaking down?

How would you know who truly care and who just want to have a piece of information for their leisure time?

Would you be able to survive if you would just keep negative thoughts to yourself?

If not, what should you do if you know these people you might tell things to wouldn't be able to help you get back on track?

Would talking to a tree be enough for the sake of breathing?

Would you be considered selfish if you would share these negatives and worries to other people because you think you need to vent out and not consider that they might be infected of your dying spirit to fight?

I thought when
our friendship began,
I 'd start to see a pattern, a plan
but.
Calls at 3 AM with teardrops
down the receiver,
spouting nonsense like-
"Why oh why did i leave her?"

Were not expected.

I welcomed them sure,
but never had I handled this before.
This traumatic tirade of-
listless lovers that'd-
surround you suddenly.

But was now expected.

Then, at 5 in the morning
I noticed.
Your mouth. Breath had stopped drawing.
As you stared at your mural
you whispered "Tribunal"

Thus began your attack.
Hacking, blood drawn, across
what was our sofa. Now torn.

No more was that mural that tilted
that wall ever so slightly.
As for me?

I left the room quietly.