time keeps on slipping through the seams
as worn out as a pair of work jeans
fade away and stay insane
who can we trust?
all the industries rust
as we stand beneath them
waiting to catch debris
to sell off at pawn shops
for a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread
suns down
so the pradators prowl the town
see how their fangs glint with motor oil
turmoil in the soul the sole reason for this lack of control
deeper we spiral
everybody just wants to go viral like small pox
drive the check through the box
the list of mistakes you still want to make
break through the shake up of rubble
and start some real trouble, burst their bubbles
visible from the hubble teloscope
we **** hope and call it dope
no more sirens in rearview mirrors
pen the next great thriller and bring it into reality
point out their logical fallicies
and make another casualty in the war
of left versus right
north south east and west
and we think one is the best
jesters playing guessing games in the crown’s court
but we always seem to fall short - straying off course
and of course it isn’t fair
we’ve all had our share of heartbreaks
but we claimed a stake of this land
pioneers of the yeah yeah yeah
but we multiply until we all die
leaving seeds on the front lawn
of the dawning of time

With your programmed morality
And persecuting isolation,
You sit quite solemnly
Quiet with your permentaion,
Morbid savagery
While the blood draws to fermentation,
Awaiting gallantly,
For your front page execution.
-
This is the last thing you saw before death,
Before arrival of the faithful guillotine;
My face crooked into a smile,
And my eyes that backed the Devil down,
Sinister and cynical,
I wiped the earth of you before,
And now, alas, a chance for history to repeat...
Penance of your grievences
Are worth their weight in sequences
And ****, the corruptable fallicies,
I only pray that I see your eyes lose all soul,
And of that, I only believe in me,
In Nothing.

Mothers garden adorned with fleshy fruit
Thus I plucked and ****** at the jocund juice
Branches speckled with luscious loot
A taste so sweet, I propose a tantalizing truce
Immortalize me with nourishing nectar
Keep my belly from famished fallicies
No longer a fleshy comestible collector
For godly ambrosia has mended moralities

I feel like I'm losing control of my life. She betrays me and says she's sorry. I believe her but I know I shouldn't. I love her but I know I shouldn't. I feel like a puppet who's trying to cut his strings. Stuck in a cycle of Stockholm Syndrome. Is love any different? I feel like it should be. It used to be, but now it's just an inability to defect. Threats more abundant than thoughts.
     Sometimes I feel courage to leave, which rapidly turns to fear. How could someone let go of his or her greatest memories? And yet those memories become spoiled and all I'm left with are fallicies in disguise.
      I think I can follow through this time around. Yet where would this leave me in the end? Is it worth it? Doubt consumes action and doubt begets doubt. Left with my nemeses: stagnation and insecurity.
     Is the risk worth the reward? What is the reward? Reward should not be synonymous with pleasure. My prize for action will be my drive for inaction.
     This gyre known as love. . .will it ever seize its pull?