Waned and weary with only toil and trouble
my limbs could only travel this journey tired. .

In my head to in my mind
-which coincidentally were not the same thing-
thoughts seemed to expire from the zealous fear found in your gaping wide darkness of speech.

My serenely spiritual soul's mythical secret shadow sparkled as a jewel:

Boundlessly black but brazenly beauteous by day, but by night,

my mind mentioned masses of decoratively hung ghastly gossip,
secretively shushed into silence
                   never
     ever
                                  to be a quick quiet find for any of us.

When I walk down the halls,
I feel the stares that I know aren't there
but I feel them all the same.  

Every eye, every mind, but this isn’t vanity,
because every glance is a burning pain,
a picture of the thousand words that I don't want to hear.  

So pill after pill,
until empty bottles cover my floors,
and steel locks bolt my doors.  

There is no overdose to present me with a midnight rose,
because who knows what would happen. I don't.  
So I stay here where I can see because blinding light paints away every shadow.

The windows are always shuttered to keep out the dark,
the growing, bulging, draining fear that I can't even keep out of my head,
the shady figure waiting around every street corner.  

You think that I don't know? It doesn't have to make sense to be real for me.
They say I have nothing to fear but fear itself,
but why do that when fear is my constant company?

not to get caught or crushed, that is the revolution.

not to get slowed or dissolved, that is the revolution.

not to get beautiful, that is the revolution.

not to accumulate a community of pride, that is the revolution.

to get what you say to be as fresh as the first for those second or last

the burning has stopped, the healing not started,

to fold inward on the observer, to disappear from the follower

survive the moment in a continuum of no lasting narrative,

it has everything you want, if you want it, some stranger wants you not to have that. and your ******* screaming that to yourself.

that is the revolution, the paranioa, and it makes energy for no reason.

it is refusal dropped into an infinite echoing well that few know how wretchedly it stinks

its a life inside that poisons the life around and proves we are a growth not growing

the revolution dogs with no name nor master nip for respect until shot

women abusing themselves in their own minds with acted voices , clawing the skin from how somebody loved them

we all cry at the same time, that is the revolution.

What is the definition of one man's sanity
In a hope of finding something clear in his clarity
And yet to be a custom to something of not
Tying the endless lopes of a never ending knot.

Often there's a lot of things in life I can't really handle,
Burnt out like an old waxy candle.

Asking myself where you place your own loyalty at
Be it the love, girls, money or fame, tell me where your own clarity at.
If this be the last days on this Earth what would you have done
Who or what would be the last you hold in your arm till it all became to none.

And what would be the point at a cutting's edge.
Where would falling man hang by the close peeks of the ledge.
What close cards are you holding to the dealt hand
What's the fallen tears you're hiding in the Ocean's sand.

Often so in life there's days I could be feeling so rich
Yet old days I feel drowned out in an empty ditch.

Buying fake love yet for the moment feels so easy to get
But my mistake would be for taking it all as real. Placed my heart out there amongst the playing set.

But I couldn't bare to be alone,
Living in a big house all on my own,
Have no close friends call me on the phone,
Blowing birthday candles, eating my ice cream in an empty cone.

I just wouldn't want to be alone.

Sometimes though I could drive myself to be paranoid
Working the hardest of days on my heart but never be employed.

I'd hate to think that I ain't at people's level or in their atmosphere,
Or to think that I could be all that's left coming out of the Earth's rear.

This could be an endless Black Paranoia.

I used to be able to close my eyes
for longer than a blink
but paranioa has a funny way of shortening the intervals between open and close
blood shot eyes is my new self portarit
only enemies and maskaraders can be seen through these windows
that lead to a fast beating heart
that is aggressively racing to its final destination