All the world's a spiel
tall tales torn from a heart; peeled.
Everyone desperate to feel
As they all lay under their ends heel
So many roles we'd play
Just to get a little more warmth today
Surging sweaty waves
Scratching at ever ending holidays
Putting hearts into ATM'S
For the roulette wheel of freedom again
Clamber up the display pen
Just to hide our broken sealed goods, friends.

Sleepless
by Intoxcy8me

It's just time, one tik, one tok,
a movement of hands-on life's big clock.
As each tomorrow becomes today,
is our destined end on its way.

Shadows forming around the edges of my life.
I've seen enough of pain and strife.
What's to do when sleep refuses you,
night after night devouring time too.

A heavy sigh escapes echos of reproof,
My lids are heavy but my mind is aloof.
A void against the glass the rain did beat and bicker,
driving my taste for some more corn-licker.

To drown my conscience in another batch,
to start the day again from scratch.
Just to sleep if only for a few,
there's only so much I can do.

I put on my costume
and I go to my big box
The Manager tells me about the numbers
and how I've fallen off

He shakes the paper over my head
I need the paper to buy the things
to eat and live
and to get the things I don't need
but want

You come to my big box
without your costume on
it's your day off - and you've come to spend the papers
that your Manager gave you
when you put on your costume
and danced for the others out of costume

to buy the things
to eat and live
and to get the things you don't need
but want

and the Manager - he has his own costume
that brings in more paper than you
so he can go on the day he doesn't come to the big box
and visit, without his costume

to buy the things
to eat and live
and to get the things he doesn't need
but wants

and we all put on our costumes
and pretend to love to dance and smile
to collect the papers
that we need

to buy the things
to eat and live
and to get the things we don't need
but want

and then we die

and the man that owns the box
smiles, and counts the papers

It strikes -- the scorching sun.
Her hair is messed up in a bun.
The habit. The veil. It was a chain.
She walked passed--
Dashed on the abbey,
Where she belonged.
Down past the silent corners.
Deep inside the high-unending walls.
The deafening silence,
The mute languages.
Secrets. Enigmas. Paradigms.
Hides the very thoughts of her shadows.
Her history,
Her memory,
Her identity.
Alas! Her name will forever be a mystery.
Buried secretly in a discreet grave--
Wasted. Rotting.
Concealed by the glowing epitaph.
Unsheathe--
Destroyed she will be.

Slips of time,
Stolen by,
The frustrating cry of empty space.
Just 3 words, just 3 breaks,
The clock ticks by,
I see your face.
Skin for every pocketed minute,
A strand of hair for each delayed train,
A minute here, A minute there,
An hour lost in anywhere.
Slips of time,
Stolen by,
A friend from a better place.
You're with me always in places I refuse to see,  
Teaching me to tune a better melody.