My freedom of expression,
Or, freedom to exist...
I've had to suppress, any implication,
That I was free, IT was free,
Or that I could rest.
My obligations became innovations,
My "freedom" was a serious test.

Shut my mouth.
Silence my thought.
Burn holes in my own sky...
To survive,
Just to... Get by.

There's no blood on the hand
of the devil begging for a gun...
But, the blood of my son,
My thoughts, my thighs,
My sun, my sky...
I'm paralyzed.
I idealized and fantasised
...a metaphor...
Something in-between dead and alive.

But this is literal.

Cry freedom for a body that fails.
An existing breath that bent steel.
Locked in the prison with 10 wardens.
Slave to a super power.
And I'm furious you sent me a bill.
I ate your currency.
I'm... Fed... Up.

Your devil is free to stare,
poke fun and share
...the misery...
...my suffering...
I'm paralyzed.

This is literal.

You speak of my frustrations
in memories aloft
High as I was in the sky,
so as low will be my drop

In most of days I long for you,
and in most I feel the weight
of the pain that sears and scorches through
my arteries and veins

How long, how long shall your stare remain  
to torment my heart and soul?
The hades of which now fills my mind
had once felt much like home

and now I hide in solitude
from suffering and from pain
To escape the toils of loving you
To sleep and never wake again.

i watched her suffer when the first one was going to a medical school,
knew she would spent years ahead in hell trying to defend her,

i watched her suffer when the second was going to college
and she couldn't afford a proper addition course to make her feel more confident,

i watched her suffer when the third was going to follow the others,
and she was slamming herself bones by bones to make sure she had all the sources,

i watched her suffer and suffer and suffer
for everyone but herself,
and if that doesn't enough to break me in every way possible,
i don't know what else will do.

What's the problem?
Root out psychic weakness for clarity.
Get a clue. Find fear with his pants pulled down.
Grease him up. Marvel at the grasp you have
When it is your grasp is cast. Take control.
Write it out. Of a pen, venom dipped, or on LCD.
Create targets. Release your load. Watch what
You thought killed you explode. Say your prayer.
Kiss dementia on the cheek. Find your tools
To craft relief, send your sinking self to sea
Sit on the water, in twilight above and far gone.
Wait for that bony fingered knock again,
That **** is infinitely recurrent.

“we break things not just as a means of release but also to see
some other thing broken aside from ourselves.”*

You asked me how
I got my hand broken
And I told you it’s
because the walls aren’t
getting any weaker

While I,
I am tired of trying hard
and I’m too worn out to fight

I am fed up with
all the things
I used to love

so I’ve been thinking ’bout
taking my life
but I see the walls
are all around
and I get the urge
to let it out

and so i do…

If I can no longer speak,
the walls would
for me;

they’d tell you a story
on how I turn
into something else
when I’m sad,
and how they stop me
when I’m not
in the right mind
and they’d tell you about
these little scars I have,
and all of the frustrations
I’m keeping inside.

You asked why and
I told you,
’cause they hear me,
when no one else will
and they feel it all,
every inch of my skin
when I lay it on them

so if walls could speak,
they’d tell you how I
hurt them
to hurt me
every single night.

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