Just sully your hands

and cover them, draw the veil --


of your black money.

Will people ever

love the earth, their mother, more --


than all their vices?

Words are ****** to a poet
When we run out it makes our blood shiver
Our hands tremble and our lips tremor
A muse becomes an addiction
I miss the high of loving you
I crave the way you made me feel
The cravings dig a hole inside me
Allowing the emptiness to win
It's like my bones are bleeding and my veins are freezing
As I sit with a pen in hand and a paper made of sand

I wish that emotions captured in a sentence or two
Could chase away the withdrawal of being away from you

General time
To live the life, electric
In a count of fames, a name of trying
That will begin the heed, of reach, exact

Secrets, only a demon could see...
The tooth and the envoy of truth
That collected a shrewdness, in all anarchy?
The scope we adjust to a new light we Rueth

Spare demonstration, for decency to quiet
And hold for a sulking hour, houses of repute
Come to the fashion of seasons before twilight
Time is am's honored party, sat to describe its sordid worth?

But hate is such, a future foolhardiness...?
When we are, the culture of simplicity...
In the name of conscience lead, to a very different guest
My name is whole and clear, of what a soul was, intimacy

Clamor of a self-sufficient eye
Many more than out, to seek the world of else
Wealth in the spy of virtue, that can suspect a total, for a lie
That we have come to know, like the basis of what seems to be, hell's...

Night comes for a tired eye to complain:
Here in saving hindsight, I have learned with the coping hours of others
And their burden, sense set before me, in sate or plane
The voice of love, with eyes to follow and hide, ruin from the peace savored, together?

Authorities, act!

Really, I do want to change --


so help me! Force me!

It is said that vices attract the weak
The mere thought of a crutch breaks a leg
It is the same with love
The thought of my wings spanning thin
I grin
I want more
Vices

I drink too much but it gives me the pleasure of intoxication,
One too many ramifications,
I smoke too much to stun my heart of its beat,
All to avoid the acceptance of defeat.

Problems are associated with you
It's hard to get through
Talking to myself, judging myself and hating myself
So alone without anyone's words of comfort, but oneself

I feel like I want to hurt those who have hurt me.
One too many reasons not to accept their plea
Smoke and mirrors everywhere
One too many reasons not to stay here.

Funny the older I get the more I find myself changing
The ways I hurt myself always change, different pains. Same vices

As appealing as seeing my blood make those strange designs as they drip down my arms sounds.
It’s becoming harder to hide the wounds.

Maybe it’s the self doubt? Challenging myself on the most minor choices. Eating away at me.

Becoming obsessive over friends, strangers, anyone really.
Knowing I’m not their problem.

Or maybe it’s the drugs, the same ones that keep my brain at bay are the ones that make the grey matter rot,

it’s all about moderation, and tonight I have none.

I’m on a drive,
I’m smoking a cigarette
I’m hearing very little
I’m feeling even less
Wonder if I’ll see the engine stop, I wonder if these keys will enter my pockets again.

I wonder if the lights fade out or if it’s a cut to black

New weapons.
Same vices.
Good night.