What do I do?
What do I do?
I'll ******* break them,
The storm I've made drapes them!
The specters don't listen if you don't lead them to their tombs,
A *******'s Satan-son lets his voice echo and loom.
All the times I look at you,
"What's wrong with you?"
"We're ******* through!"
Let it go!
It's nothing new!
And we're all ******!
Can't let it go,
Blow over the band,
The pain will fall down with the sand,
Just let it go,
And tell me that you know,
To drop it!
Drop it!
Forget it all!
Watch the fall!
Watch you drop it!
Drop it!
******* all,
Drop it!
Let me sail on through,
Then notice the pretty view,
Burning,
The tempest on the wake,
Is brewing an underworld earthquake,
Let fire reimburse me,
Let go for your own sake,
Tell me that your life's not at stake.
So move on!
Drop it!
I'm stuck with the ones who will never understand,
Reality is fragile,
Reality's in demand,
You want your salvation?
Take this plan,
Take this gun,
Take the trigger,
To your skull,
Release your specters to the world,
Or you could get off your ***,
Point the gun where it belongs,
Then they might drop it.

Pierces of blue
slice through the empty.
Filling them up
with the pain that I truly yearn for.

For now;
plant the seeds
in my pierced wounds.

"I wish"
the rose beds would grow against my pale-tanned flesh.

A soft voice
with a beautiful and willing heart.
A heart
convinced wrong.

Someday I would like to wipe the yellow sky from your outer realm.
And be brave for the solar system.

A product of the false factory.

Factory of norm illuminated by lies.

But all I want is your recognition,
and for you to hold my soft-crystalline-rose-sighs...

I wait and I wait for your sweet reply:
Of love and caring,
of what I want on to rely.

I wait and I wait to see your beautiful face:
To see your shores of blue,
to see you smile and haste.

I wait and I wait until you speak:
Until we walk,
until we converse at the creak.

But sometimes its unbearable...
The wait.
The nausea and feelings of distraught,
anger,
rage,
pain.
Love...

But what we share and what we shared,
was worth waiting for and nothing can compare.

I'm tired;
Of being sad,
Of being called bad,
Of being judged,
Of being scared.

I'm tired of being tired.

*Why can't people just be theirselves, instead of being the society's idea of perfect?

is it poetic justice
to call you the earth?
to call me the moon?

your pull is just as strong
as your
words