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M Feb 2018
Verse 1
Sneak peak at your future-is it warm and bright?
A flash foward that is only for tonight.
Ring a bell for every single sinner-
prepare the gold for our number one winner-
I see you're starved like a wolf without his dinner-
I'll pull out the guide "Assasins for Beginners"
Do you wanna know-Do you want to know
Is it yes or no-is it yes or no
Pull back every arrow
And shoot it through your bow.

Verse 2
I sip every ounce of the satin night.
Like a veil of memory washing out my sight.
Raise a heart for every single loser-
Burn a witch says ever accusor-
I sleep walk all the nights that I am dreamin-
I've got a little secret: my lover is a demon.
Do you wanna know-do you wanna know
Is it yes or no-is it yes or no
Pull back every arrow and shoot it through your bow.

Verse 3
Raise your glass-to the moonlight.
As if your last-no wrong or right.
Is it worth your story to have it all?
No more bruising glory, no more room to fall...
A dark love spell.
A play on Cupid being evil and actually a monster, a reflection on my own experience.
Edit* has since been written into a song
Pumpkin King Apr 2016
Broken down and shaken up my life here is an empty cup…
Dreams shattered… knowing something’s there…
But yet I’m still broken…
My mind.. a war zone of broken bones and ****** tears….
Fighting the past but yet being overcome.. by my past and my mistakes…
One by one… my resolve is undone… not even caring… because the oven says I’m done…
The empt7y shell cracks and withers away..
The shell that used to be me..
But now I’m twisted image…. Everyone is disappointed to see….
Molded by society… this cage and shadow so cold…
So far there are too many cracks in this withering shell for their liguid trust to be holden…
For their love, trust and admirations are too golden….
For my wrotting insides to have beholden…
He looks down on me… smiles but yet goes to the accusor’s table… and riddles out my plee…
In terms that these constricting chains don’t speak, feel or hear….
For I am no one…
And I am lost in no man’s land….
They say,to let your conscience be your guide but what use is it when your mind is too damaged by those hurting words that mommy and daddy forget that they spoke and think my plans for life are just one big blasted joke……
I feel  like I’m being choked…
Choked by the endless knotted rope of the anticipating uncontrolled stroke...
When life hits me hard and knocks me down on my backside and keeps blaring the white twisted noise…
Become the nightmarish reality of my creative dream…
my dream of to imagine a heavy bass cannon
and keep going no matter how crazy or stupid it seemed
when the cage’s copper wires closed in and squeezed my heart out of my head and into my hands…
where it slipped and fell like mistakenly placed pots and pans…
He said to look at my own two hands…
that they weren’t my hands but what he related to a zombie’s missing pair…
he never tried to understand, how I try to put two and two together and ponder why I never ended up with four…
to see that  under this smile there is a broke down, bent out of shape lost boy…
that just wants to see his father smile and truly be proud of what he brought to the table…
Not just the countless cp’s and the umpteenth e-mail that states my “struggles” of the week….
No not just the problems that everybody else’s parents don’t know what to do with….
I want them to see the potential in me and step back and let me set it free….
Instead of  putting me down and pressing me hard with their disapproving gaze that bends and breaks my resolve to do at least something right and drains me of me…
replaces the emptiness with what’s not me and walks in the shadows and builds up the signature monster personality..
until they find their son through the darkness…
the darkness that’s not their lost and alone son that they know has talent and potential…
but the monster that was imprinted from all the questioning thoughts that conjured because they forgot to ponder how their lost and alone son…
added two and two together..
but somehow never got four.....
like a steak… my soul’s skin has been seared and cooked… sealed and locked…
never again to grow and learn….
And forever more the lost and alone two year old…
Splashing in that same puddle of mistakes…
And as time goes on… the two year old stays a two year old..
And as time goes on.. the puddle becomes a pool…
That pool becomes a brook… that brook becomes a stream…
And eventually as time goes on and countless mistakes are added to what once was a puddle..
And now is an obsidian dense ocean…. Where that same two year old is engulfed in and is not seen as the two year old he truly is as his actions and appearance continue to show….
But is perceived as the ocean he is consumed by… the mistakes sealing the split cracks and missing pieces… that he was forced to leave behind to force the image of himself he ever so wanted to show….
Disappointment after disappointment the two year old sees….
His resolve engine is running out of steam…
The two year old sees the endless darkness at the end of his hopeless tunnel..
The torment..
The fury..
The  me that’s not me...
And let’s the ocean consume the seared and resolve empty shell that floated not into satisfaction… but plummitted down into the false but real fate
it's hard to meet other's expectations, but almost impossible to meet your own
No great story ever started with darkness?
Do you not know the greatest story ever told started with darkness?


Once upon a time,
Darkness plagued the land—
A great, powerful, grave darkness.
Darker than anything, man knows.
And how could he,
For man never lived in that darkness;
It was before time itself,
For there was no sun,
There was no moon,
And no stars, or plants.
There was only separation
Of the darkness and the Light.
And great was their separation,
As great chasms divide us from one another
So there was between the darkness and the Light,
But at this time darkness was known by a different name,
For it was not but the absence of light
But the absence of all that is good and holy.
It was called chaos,
For apart from the Light,
No good could be found.
And so it was,
And it was good.

Until the angels fell with thunderous rejection
Cast down from the Light,
For their hearts were filled with chaos
And hardened to fit their form.
So their hearts were set against the nature of the Light;
Their chaos was filled with murderous intent,
Hatred of their faithful kin,
And displeasure in the good nature of the Light.
And he who led them had great envy,
Desiring that the light would be his.
Plotting for glory and power
To be placed in his unfit fist,
For once he carried the Light true and pure,
But now his chaos made him unfit,
For it would disgrace the Light
And inflict wrath upon him.
For no chaos could touch the Light
Without severance of chaos,
And bound to body and mind was their chaos.
So the prince of chaos plotted for his own glory
Yet brought wrath upon him and his followers,
Mistaking what he once held to be his.

And it is this darkness that blinds us so.
Making us selfish,
Mistaking what we held, to be our own bit of light,
For only what is holy may hold light.
We, man, are nothing more than the spawn of the Light.
Who, like the accusor and his kin, chose chaos
So that we may do anything our heart desires.
And the Light, being gracious and true
Did not sever us from the light
But granted us audience through the Sacrifice
That we may reflect the Light
As we did on the day of our birth.
Version #3

— The End —