Tar*

I was never yours
this was never meant to be,
you never truly wanted me,
I was just your plan B,
only good when you needed me.

Remember the lunches I bought?
Remember the fights I fought,
the times my motives were almost caught?
All to please you and keep you by my side,
only to show that friends stick by.

And now that I've stripped you
from all your power,
I face the unbelieving expression
of your hardworking, single mother
And I used to stare at the ground,

Afraid to paint a frown in the city,
but now I'll stare you down,
beg please, with the words you're
wasting on deaf ears,
dress me in graffiti.

Let's discuss The Redpath...

It's a way of base-studded energies

It is an expression of pains
With brief relief and heavy repercussions

It has ,in mind, the idea of a powerful hunter
But creates, instead, a coward of heady minded ignorant opportunity

It feeds with an already full and greasy belly

It's a wealth of pleasure exceeding to become sickness

It discards friends and favours ugly company

It is extremity
It is ****** and criminal imagination stretched foul and giddy
It forsakes cloth less and honest art

It takes to the air but comes up biting

It rids horror
Only by taking the part of horrors drama until it bonds no more

It spacks you open
And spares you scrappy litter

It degrades you when it promised you bliss by annihilation
And sleep upon oblivion

There's just futility when you pound on the the remaining closed door with bratty fists of anguish

It's pollution ; a rotting expense
Don't play with The Redpath

                      - Coal bitter heart tar

Human monsters created in my life this gore
And opened up this darkened door
That the demons all stream through
And I am mired in all this goo

Sticky memories of torture
Leaves me standing on the border
Of who I was and what they made me
Could someone hand me the key

So I could turn back the clock
And maybe this life of horror I could stop
Or maybe twist the hands of fate
That left me in this wretched state

The sands of time keep streaming
And the demons they keep screaming
And this charred heart keeps beating
And this life no longer holds meaning
So my throat, and wrist start bleeding

As I stand here on the brink
Inside my soul is starting to shrink
In the thick black tar I'm starting to sink
It's coal black as dark as ink
I'll be gone in just one blink

Pain starting, a mild ache in the chest
A slight unease in the head, twitching of the eye,
A throb of blood in the temples,
Vacuum in the lungs, sinking in the stomach,
A needle piercing the skin, entering slowly,
severing nerves as it goes.
A blunt saw rasping at the bone.
Teeth gnawing on the tubes.
Lying parched thirsty in the sand,
blood slowing, blurred lake in a distance, cool moisture in the air,
Emaciated, hungry bile in the mouth, in sight of a barbecue.

Pain now a searing blue shaft in my head.

Fleeting glimpses, few and far between,
smiles and notes etched in the memory
Faint aroma of her skin, cool and warm at different places,
moles on her face competing to attract my eyes.
All stabs of frozen steel , Re-played forever in my mind.

The distance small yet unreachable.
Flowing thoughts interrupted by telephone networks.

Me in you and you in me, dreams, dance of the souls,
broken by lonely wetness.

Endless sleepless days and nights, tearless eyes, fading memories and slurred voice.

Pain, now has done its work,
Burnt me inside out, its heat and edge has killed the nerves
Left me severed and numb.

The blackness in a distance, approaching, engulfing
a promise of congealed tar to heal the wounds?

His thoughts, his talks
Have combusted every corner
Of my cracking heart ,
Into ashes and dust,
Which fly no more,
Into cravings and lust,
Which I never adore.

I am trapped in this thought cloud
Flying beyond the horizons of fantasy,
Reaching non-existent places,
Impossible in my destiny.

I float around on this surface,
Swimming like a cinder-block
On this black tar of love,
Burnt from within,
And ready to burn further,
To win it all,
And to get that shine of a diamond,
It's tough.

There is red in the forefront of my family crest, I was told
that meant outsiders were not taken lightly. We would pour tar
over castle walls and then many years later down our lungs.
One technique would take longer to die.

Riding a steam engine with a harmonica attached at my chest to make tips
I double-tasked with a guitar while tar burned
on the vestibule. Keeping those who didn’t like the smell out.
The engine burned killing pixie-dust flecks and turning them into cinders.
To Duluth and back
each mouth mimicked.

We used to abide by segregating those who enjoyed torture
and those who didn’t.