For bloodlines are linked only by blood
My emotions come out in a drowning flood

We only share a last name
For all these years I’ve fallen fool to your game

No remorse to the ones with the worse
Only greed and fame, it’ll always be the same

We are linked not by love anymore
The stress laid down is like an aching sore

I’ll no longer be trapped in your thickening mud
For bloodlines are linked only by blood

To debark the root of evi,
l was lead to myself,
Was in ecstacy at that time so it was hard to tell,
I had fallen below that of an ****,
My loyalties had changed and so had my heart
No matter how much I weave it again
This spiders web Is in distain
Turned an tossed, left to rot
My selfish desires invoke no guilt
Now that I can not flee from the web that I have built

From the wild wheat, split and well broken,
whereas nature shows her mercy to not sting
your feet; as these boundaries are meaningless
to wild creatures; as the wash of your fears is
mostly made of us leaving tear stains- waiting
for that harvest in a direction, we only know

Spit grain to a graze on a stone, hide all of your
dreams in a piece of melting snow- while the
earth is still steep, her every ocean so, so deep
As your footprints in her sand is just an empty
space; that recollection of those old skin shoes

I once thought ahead of all the questions hanging;
but answers are always so ahead of us- revelations,
above us all, oh, sweet Lord, I’m only but a small
bird, not much bigger than a person’s thought-
I don’t really soar most days, but push myself to
at least float; as the hardships of life have taught
me how to live, but haven’t taught me to fly

Your harsh whips upon my skin,
The shackles around my feet,
The cuffs on my hands,
Why must I endure this?
What have I done?
Did I cause this?
Was it my fault,
O’ dear captor,
Please let me go,
I have a life I must live,
Upon my last vowel,
A booming voice echoes,
“Memento mori”
I’m not perfect I know,
But please give me a chance,
Give me a chance to prove myself,
Allow me to tear off this mask at once,
This crimson speckled mask.

Thank you my dear,
You have set me free,
Now let this be upon me,
I will now perform my greatest act,
And pull off this wretched mask,
As I tug and tug,
I am not released,
For years I try,
Why won’t it come off?
Will I ever be free,
The mask is all I know,
It has been with me through thick and thin,
This so-called wretched mask,
Is it me?  
What constitutes my identity?
What features make me,
Me?
It is as though I have never left those chains,
No matter how far I run,
No matter how many twists and turns,
His voice follows me,
“Memento mori”,
I’ve reached the end of my crossroad,
Remember,
I must die.

And the steam is gone,
Clean now — everything.
But the tub.
Dirt days and dirt of the day
Ring around the tub,
Stays, a conjunction,
And, but, Baby is gone with the water.

We notice the dirt, the after bath aftermath,
Or I notice the dirt, because it is just me,
And the steam is gone.
Draining is slow:
A clog of pocket watches;
Lovers’ tresses;
First communion necklaces;
And flecks of sparrows’ wings.

The sparrows know better,
Bathing in the sand, brake dust,
The gutter grit.
The irons,
Dirt-day rings around my ankles, a conjunction.
Too fettered to flap like the sparrow,
To shake-shiver filthy clean.

.         Let me out. Please.
                               Please, let me out.
          Let me out, Please.
                               Please, let me out.

Unlock the door. Please.
                               Please. Unlock the door.
Unlock the door. Please.
                               Please. Unlock the door.

I hear a key scrape inside a mechanism,
                                                      In a lock, down the hall.

   Let me be next. Please.
                               Please. Let me be next.
   Let me be next. Please.
                               Please. Let me be next.

Footsteps clap the floor,
      Then I peer shadow, under door.

    Open the door. Please.
                                Please. Open the door.
    Open the door. Please.
                                Please. Open the door.

Silence.

                                          Silence.
                                                      ­                          Silence.

                             "...Please?"

         Silence.

Then those same steps...
                                                 Tap softly...

                                                      ­                               Away.

While I was passaging around;-
In an acquainted car, deprived of any hint of tints
My soul felt stuck inside that glass box;
Clear as a lucid bright day, to see how fragile I am

The glass in itself;- was reflective, so picturized
Boldly showing all the ugliness written out,
By the milage in my eyes.

when it happened it was a surprise
like opening a birthday gift
from someone who didn't know you well

you're only grateful
when the moment is over

but the moment never died

for some reason
it eats where I eat
sleeps where I sleep
hides where I hide

it has taken over

he had no right to get close
to trap me in a single moment

if I was a sun
then I am not anymore
because his touch burned me
somethings shouldn't be ignored