He's a machine,
An instrument of death.
Ready to take your last breathe.

Whoosh
His scythe glides.
His sword slides.

Bang
His gun roar.
A death of more.

Death is inevitable.
Life is distructrable.
One. Good. Hit.
You're in the pit.

it feels like someone
is gripping my throat.,
and squeezing, and
it's filling up with *****
and bile as they drag
me through their mud.
i feel like everything is
caving in and the walls
come crumbling down.
the walls come crumbling
down. the walls come
crumbling down.
i come hurling down.

how's it gotta feel to
not fear every glance,
how's it gotta feel to
not have a bullet in
your chest,

there's one for looking
the wrong way,
there's one for loving
the wrong way,
here's to being the wrong
way being the way out.

here's to being the next
headline, the next facebook
debate, here's to being a
social commentary and last
but so very least, a human
being.

In light of all the gun violence in the USA,
I'd prefer my democracy unleaded.

On the muddy Mooreland
The madness came
As naked warriors
Came rushing in
Blades in hand
Slashing man
After ****** man
Blood and guts
Gore for glory
Price paid
To play king maker stories
Daggers, and bows
Blow after blow
Barbaric and tragic

Some find magic
In these tales
Some find honor
Like mental *******
They imagine facing
Such odds with grace

Not knowing how
Their face would whiten
How their bowls would lighten
How courage would
Sink deep into the dark recesses
And the primal urge
Would be to run away

These battles did not make men heroes
Did not take ordinary to legendary status
They damaged victor and loser alike
Those who died
And those who survive
Where both broken

She said that biting my nails was a bad habit,
as she pulled a puff from the lipstick stained cig.
Habits, I can tell you all about them, she croaked this,
Men, War, Love -- Forgive me for being redundant.
I shook my head and released a laugh that seemed to
float past her, with little acknowledgment, little care.
Men, War, Love, Drugs, *** -- I've had it all inside me,
I've witnessed it tremble through and pass, with gradual
recklessness. I've seen and felt it all, but I wonder if I've
experienced glimpses or the entirety of what life has had
to offer me, bad or not, true or contrived. And this, this
wonderment is my most terrible habit; it will destroy me,
through and through, until nothing is left but a smoldering
foundation; a shell, burning through cigarettes and life.

How many times can you clench your fists
Claim defense while proactively seeking conflict
Looking to others as the culprit when you did it
How many times can you wage war
Taking more and more before
The blood soaked shores
Come back to haunt your greedy heart
Are you a tin can machine man
With little or no heart to feel for
Your victims in this strange war
Or are you human with eyes to see
That the soft warm flesh you cleave
Is not an illusion or video projection
But a genetic copy with only minor variations
That your enemy is not a nation
That fills its ranks with fanatic monsters
But a funhouse mirrors that reflects
The same passions and drives that move you
To do what you do
One look through this cold Chrystal clear blue lake
And you will be forced to take their pain as your own
Look just one time with an open mind and it will be known
That there is no enemy
Only unclaimed family