its funny, how little love there is there
despite their protesting
you're a source of a amusement;
its a pleasurable kind of pain
that leaves you wanting and drained
but pleasure and pain
all the same

Under gaia, through brimstone and fire
I climb below the rocky crops to spot my autumn perch
It glows like my desires owned up to it
This nightly throne I casually moan too
Light this cancer upon my lips
Whisper across the river styx
Best wishes to the mistress Nyx
I knock the vase containing complacent behavior lately sating saintly savior traipsing take your aimless face and waive wasted tainted flavor away from me.
I've not a taste for thee,
anymore.

spending my days
in between the sheets
peeking out at the sky as it speaks
one deep sigh
i watch as it shifts
from night time
to day time
flicking through the shades of blue
mixing together, painting a solemn hue
i hardly notice that time has gone by
until the new day arrives
sitting all alone
wasting all my time

Mirrors are not the worst, but I sure don't like them, though I like them more than what they show me.

I look into one,
afraid and armed only with
determined resignation.
I'm finally feeling old, and it's a lonely thing.
I'm tired of outliving friends. I'm tired of losing.

So much time I've wasted. So much pain I've caused. My sore back is not the only reason I slump.
I ignore my own advice, though I think it's good advice.

My heart is rough and there appears no fair way to stay on course. I disguise my overuse of metaphors and think myself clever.

But I'm still breathing and
my family loves me.

smoking to die
living in the expletive
relishing the waste

for wasting must mean you have