Darkness creeps over me,

i cant control it,

it comsumes me,

what do i do,

where do i run to,

mylegs are far to weak,

and i have no one,

i did this to myself,

none else is to blame,

the cutting,

the drugs,

i went to far,

i pushed things to far,

i'm left with nothing,

an no one,

except the darkness,

that creeps over me.

They say sadness,
Is a silent killer,
Momentarily seen,
As a soul destroyer.

It drains you,
It comsumes you,
It also drives you,
Into the arms,
Of bad habits.

Touch, so cold,
But effective too,
Sadness always remains,
And one day,
It will ruin you.

Energy gets lost,
Tissue gets wasted,
Your eyes will shut,
Your body left sedated,
Stuck in a trance,
Which gets stronger with time,
It's only a matter of,
Walking the line,
To the other side.

I can't take your calls anymore
Something's just not right with your mind
I can't stand the way you try to control the things you can't help in your life
Because even when the skys are blue
Your still living in a tragedy
And even when its going good
Your still impossible to deal with
I wish you could see yourself
Take a good hard look
I wish you could just be yourself
Your trying to impress the world
But your just another mindless, failing robot
Circling the depths of nonsense and chaos
You're a product of the dogma that comsumes the currupted mind
One that stabs uncertainty with darkness instead of light
But somethings are not exactly what they seem
Sometimes I'm forced to drown in echoed ****** screams
And pretend to be somewhere else in this misery
I'll pretend you were only trying to protect me
As I wish upon another hopeless, dimming shooting star
Concentrate on anything else but this headache you make pound on my brain
If only magic exsisted
And I had it in me
To just fly out of this nightmare and into the sky
Would you leave me alone and stop calling
Because I can't take your phone calls anymore

I wake from emptiness,
Another day awaiting,
Pulling me from dreamlessness,
But this is not,
Just another day,
It it the day,
The one where the phone,
Screams from the wall,
And the voice,
Over the humming of static,
Whispers the words,
I've dreaded for so long,
It is that phone call,
It is that day,
That I wake to,
The day when existence,
Is aimless,
And tears accompany,
The morning rain,
Full of sorrow and regret,
All the while,
Hopelessness comsumes me,
As I think of all the words,
I never said,
And pray,
That the cruel sun,
Will have the decency,
To remain hidden,
Behind the clouds

life has its loves and its sadnesses. What is known to others, other than what is shared is up to us.
Love has its hopes so that we may dream and leave this moment unto one where we aspire to new happiness.
Life has its laments, then they remember the found of such a deep love in a soul is a point of progression,
to deny such an honour is a madness. I am not cold nor emotionless, nor am I seperate. I merely have a great sadness,
that comes with a great love, its all micro and macrocosm. Like that ectasy pill of youth the moments of liberating
freedom and flashing lights, the weightlessness the chains of opression leave as the kiss to their burn comsumes you for that
time and makes you a new whole.
So much greater is a large time in our lives, It grabs us, with the story of the past, the building of a character worthy
of play wright, a love worthy of enternite life and a soul worthy of the purification of the realm from the desire of such
a thing. All of a sudden desire is lost, the transient 'I' misplaced and a new place in which we are not just residing, but
being awakens. We are in the whirlpool of all that this is and although may catch upon the rocks of fear, there is a
knowing of the sacredness of this time. Yet just like that comedown, the depression and need to be help that accompany the
sunday morning on that cold sofa of a warm stranger, the buzz ends, its part of the game, it will resurface in greater form
with a greater name as all things do, but that moment for what it was taught us the golden rule. Nothing we could gain from
it surpassed the moment its self. That all gifts are immediate and have to be seized with the immediacy of the instincual
reaction that saves a man from falling. The moment that is and always was is our one true love, she wears decieving clothes
so that we may to recognise her in a new way, but it is always her.
Life has all of these things and none of them, the answer of this is dependant on what you choose to see as now and not later.

The urge has come back to give into the attack
But if you do then you will die
or be fighting to stay alive.
I don't want to giv in and let my feelings win,
but if I go back, then it wins, my heart and soul,
are going to be dead.
My light has burned out and the fire left me with some scars;
Broken and torn stuck behind a prisoners doors.
But I am innocent of all crime except unto myself guilt comsumes me.
Because If I go back then my heart stos beating.
The blood overflows, my viens are cut, ripped, **** IT I MESSED UP!
So now I cry as I get burned alive,
and by the crimson river on my arm,
it flows until it dies.
Until me, myself, and I die.