I feel so alone in a world that loves to **** itself,
As I need a gun, to truly feel like I belong;- filling
Up its cold chamber holes, in this revolving world
Six monumental shots, ready to **** myself…

Bullet 1: the war on drugs, is just a war with ourselves

Bullet 2: the war for land, is just a war with the world

Bullet 3: the war for peace, is a war in which death
   will only be the truest peace we’ll know

Bullet 4: the war for survival, is a war of stealing
   and killing, for that desperate dollar

Bullet 5: the war of the flesh, is a war between sanctifying
   the temple, or satisfying myself in lust’s power

Bullet 6: the war of identity, is a war of fighting against
   all the alleged titles- in order to find my true self

the tribute to
mankind is that war
has not defeated us

The towering candles of the monk’s studious hours
Now guttered to an old head on the pillowing smoke.

The Pied Piper of Hamelin bloated on the lawn
And the rat tails from his eye sockets engorged.

War is the end of all lore,
The bare abdomen of the ****** Mary gutted for her son,
War is a *******’s mouldering arms,
The infidel to love, the mutilator of colors,
War is the broken feast of the heart,
Bones picked clean.

Human nature: fault of our demise, ideas of peace we genocide;
Premediated suicide, as are the thoughts of killing myself for
The livelihood of someone younger living out their dreams

Peace isn’t cried out for, until the cries of war unhurriedly die out
To love one another, is to have something we all hate together
A hate so hot to hold onto, it could boil an egg in my hand
While the bags of my eyes carry a lot- in their sagging clouds
Before rain; tears in the eyes of man showing no mercy

Governments neglect you, hiring a river in the way of
Drowning sailors; strict kings, ruling over a collapsing sea
Men believing fortunes live with them, while moving their tents
In a desert’s empty heart, scorpions join in to sting your naked feet
Ruling the world; in the freshly turned soil- the Sweat of Humanity
Still man themselves, are as divided as that soil meeting its erosion
Mothers feet are wet, dripping prayers, crying for their lost sons
Fathers hide in secret places, to mourn over their widowed daughters

What is the idea of what they call, “peace,” while guns are the
Answer to their questions; as the devil quietly pulls the triggers
Our blood shouts out, slicked across the streets- crying for peace
But man takes it as an offence, uttered from a child’s lips.

Peace is irrelevant, rhetorical, paradoxical,
But when it comes to the griefs of war, peace is inevitable.

i see blood,
i see it everywhere now:
falling from the sky,
splattered on the ground.
i see blood of those
who don't have a home,
not because it's lost,
but because it's torn.
i see crimson tears,
i see scarlet streets.
they might sympathise,
they might speak of peace,
but if there's no justice,
then there is no god.
when i close my eyes
all i see is blood.

Here we are again standing on the precipice of war
Paralysed by the past and the greed of our forefathers
While the inside battle has raged since birth
Good enough? I think not.
History only repeats its worst parts
They saw a green orb signalling GO GO GO
Faith in illusion the yellow-blue glow
Look but don’t touch! You’ll break it child!
But, they silly foolish daisies flitter flutter in the breeze
What nature? What love? What future? Roars the uncanny double
As it reappears, so much better now at creating disposable monstrous insects
Death? Very well, I guess we accept. We’re ***** for pain
But why walk into the river with rocks in your coat?
You’ve never been to war they gloat
As the wax drips steadily sealing our fate
And so those monstrous insects march by one by one
Hurrah! hurrah! here we go again old sport!

Don’t do this,
Don’t do that.
Don’t do this,
Don’t do that.
Questioning everything ever spoke.
Word of God?
Written by man.
Word of law?
Written by money.
Word Wide Web?
Written by mimics.
Sent from the heavens.
Sentenced to the depths of hell.
Don’t do this,
Don’t do that.
Don’t do this,
Don’t do that.
illist **** ever,
is my ****** vision.
Instinct infact infected
by infinity.
4 inns whipped is a dream of false livin’.
4 scores a symphony,
livid through me.
Peace prosperity,
is an achievement
of dust settlin’.
Sediment seeded seasoned veterans.
I breathe,
I speak,
in granite,
assumed ******.
Instead eyes locked in sight.
Sobriety isn’t suppressed.
I don’t need to confess,
but when I lay my soul to stress,
the expound will be found in heavens bound.
It’s easy to connect the dots,
but it’s difficult to figure the picture out.
Don’t do this,
Don’t do that.
Don’t do this,
Don’t do that.
and I’m still dancing like its a victory every time I step foot *****, respect.

I'm at war with myself.
My confidence caught in between
a battlefield of destructive choices,
defeating words and deafening voices,
that strike me down constantly.
I'm over taken by armed anxieties,
their vocalities violently shattering
any chance I've had at victory.
My white flag falling at my feet,
as I hear them scream,
"You'll never be good enough!"