i have a dream
that one day i'll have one
one day i'll decide
that this world is worth it
maybe it will be revealed to me
that everything hasn't really gone to hell
maybe one day
all this poetry
will mean something
there's this ancient book
that everyone hates
and this guy named jesus
who reassures us
like dr. king
that we will have trouble in this world
but not to give up
kick the bucket
run off
slice our wrists
because he overcame it
i miss that
radical freedom fighter
bleeding on a torture device
i'm sick and tired of his people
like i'm tired of justin beiber's fans
which is really saying a lot
if you think about it
i have a dream
that someday
i won't be so worthless
i have a dream
that someday
i'll get out of this family mess
i have a dream
that someday
i'll be allowed to dream
again

I could subtract a little from the fact and factor in some make believe
I could
but the point in telling anything is seeing others think upon and bringing to the table
another fact or one more fable.
I shall persist in this, in case there's something that I missed and I for one just would not sleep
if by perchance I stole to keep a drama and to let it seep out slow from lips that know the fictions that this life can give.
And who could give in more than me who gave in more than once to be
accepted as directed
or directly intercepted by the laughing fates and muses who only choose to slap my face when in foul moods
and I being full of airs and graces decline to comment further on this torture that these ladies would inflict and get more slapped faces (Though one face is all I have)
and being kicked from pillar unto the post my body plays more foot ball than most but I don't care
The Aphrodites must get their share
and share in me they will
not that I mind
in another fact it quite amuses when fate deals me all at once the muses.
Just means I have to watch my diet
can't be bothered dying yet
too much to see
the fates, will me to go on and begone at the same time
and that's confusing
I must get a little more of those there musing
using all my powers of persuasion
I engineer a situation where we sit and flit
from fact to fantasy
and how it is I want it to be
the muses they don't hear me
they're busy
playing bingo.

As the golden sun sets,
My eyes tear and sparkle with joy,
The burning torture of the day; gone,
And now the white light to enjoy.
I sit at the stroke of midnight,
Eyeing beautiful lights up in the night sky,
Thousands; millions enraptured my acceptance,
Watching is a privilege, yet not to fly.
There is more to be seen,
For tiny stars are resting above me,
They call on me as to do a favor,
I am to count these stars,
Every one I see.
Yet the beauty gets more intense,
Of newer, bigger stars forming,
Yet my ears follow another sound,
There becomes grayness for storming!
Stars faded one by one,
Some vanished in a row,
For this was no joke,
Nor any show!
The most widely know star,
Burned the cloud,
For whatever tiny stars were left cheered,
The night seemed so proud.

The liquidity of rage, swoons like a red ocean.

It is a tidal fury that rises, rises, rises.

Within its climatic ascension, exist an anxious torture.

Thoughts rush in, pacing on what conclusions will come.

These waves have come before, the carnage is extreme.

And while the destruction strikes the shore, the bastions will stand.

Ruin though, shall come, and each storm stands testament to that reality.

The walls will fall, and all will breathe a final sigh of relief, at the end.

What can a reflection be to itself
Or a falling leaf apart from its mother?
She did not know the answer
She could only scratch her heart until it bled
Like eyes watching lovers that fall but never set

Pilings choking under rising tides
But not high enough to relieve their burden
A wax candle waiting for the torture of the flame
She could only watch knowing its life was short
Soon to join the memories she could never forget

By her rosary she knew somewhere was a blessing
By her cross she knew she was still saved
The stars that had chosen those who would look
Lit the path as she returned to the night sky
As her heart asked if life was only about regret

Watching midnight strike,
The clock stands at the foot of my bed,
Ticking the seconds till death becomes me,
Thinking about life is all I can do,
Watching others love while I waste away,
The torture and humiliation of high school,
The death of my soul,
The beautiful music I made,
The love I gave but was never given back,
One last pill or cut of the wrist...
I welcome you death with open arms.

I am standing in the rain
With my face upturned to the stern, judgemental sky
The's no pathos here for me
This rain doesn't mirror my pain
It isn't soft or sympathetic,
Just relentless dripping.
Rattling, gritty city rain
Impervious, acidic,
Trying to dissolve me.
It doesn't matter
I am already melting, ungently
Parts of me are floating down the sludge-slick streets
Of this place I used to love.
It's poison for me now
Pulling me apart, like the rain
Working on me, persistent dagger drips
It's water torture.
Even if I turn away, and cover all that's bare
Each droplet seems to find me
Seeking out the pressure points
Left tingling by your kiss.

When I was young, I was told
that deep beneath our feet,
was a land I’d be sent to,
if I didn’t clasp my hands and speak
to an invisible man who lived in the sky.

I inquired softly what this land was?
They snapped, I’d burn and scream
in a cloud of smoke, fire
and a bearded red man would torture me
I shut my mouth as I wondered,
Why?

Shaken, I knelt by my bed and
apologized for myself—
my thoughts and humanity.
How would standing within these stained-glass walls,
I wondered, make me more a saint,
and how would a magic book
bring sanity?

I had a friend, once
that only I could see.
He followed me wherever I walked
in innocent company.
But they scorned my imagination,
how could I believe?
This silly made-up nonsense
that I couldn’t even see

Funny they said that,
because as I recall,
they handed me a Bible, and told me,
of some magic Jewish zombie
that saved humanity.

Unfair does it have to be
Laying in bed in half a stupor
Dazed with sleepless pain
It is but another way to suffer

Deja vu in reverse, memories hated
Like yesterday's dreams of torture and malice
Plastic veins injected to hear the call
The disease returned upon us

You break down our walls
You take our moments and minds
with no purpose or intent
Fear will not keep us from living

You hide inside of us
only to mask your hateful crime
You run cowardly away
You have taken lives but you will not take mine

Perhaps with cleft eyes
He grasped the form of woman;
    To what region of being
Did He want to tempt the Saints?
And men tripping over themselves
Until the sky plunges beyond her skyline
Chasing horizons like waken dreams
      Conjuring the vanishing moment
He entwined himself in the essense
Of Her,
Of She,
Of Woman!
(I write knowing I too am fool
For the taste of her wine)
Welcome to the vineyard of slaughtered vine,
Trampled grapes,
Vessels of drunken madness!

     Imagery of her transparency,
     The energetic torture of her touch,
     The burning flame with lustrous embers,
Soft harmony of her fingers
As she flows onto my body
Like some supreme sculptor,
Blossom me with your masterful touch,
Woman, created by God
To accept a blood stained lover!
Lost man to lost girl
In tunnels of obsidian,
The bonsage of our love,
Woman, ancient name of desire,
Abstracted spectre of your body
Sets men to explode like a sun!

Such a wondrously created being
Set before the eyes of barbaric confusion.

Guarded I am now for there is an empty presence surrounding me
      It whispers in my ear. Grabs the memories and scatters them all around.
Hours it wasn't before this presence manifested before me.
       It walks towards me with a smile, with open arms, with a nudge
Only to dissipate, leaving a sadness to cover me as it's residue
        Leaving me to head to the restroom
           To get in a stall
                   To close my eyes and cry
Sometimes when the ones we love leave,  a part of them stays to remind us
           To torture us
                To love us
To make their memory survive but do they know how much it hurts to know that
        the  Presence will always remain but never the real person?

Why am I always like this?
Why can't I just relax and just be?
Here's a secret, a emotion deep and unseen,
I've been fighting the notion to die since I was fourteen
I've been trying to rationalize my own being
I know that giving up won't accomplish anything
But being alone is such a corrosive thing
Tying to suppress the song that the siren sings
I've been carrying this weight so long and struggling
And can't get anyone shift some of the burden from me
How do I cry for help if I'm dizzy from spinning
How long has been since I've been winning
Being stranded at sea barely swimming
So many verses and chapters I've started from the beginning
And it usually works for the first time
Then the thousand cuts come and I'm
Bathing in sea salt and lime
Emotions pivot on a dime
And nobody sees because they have no time.  
So why am I like this? Because no one has shown me otherwise
What it's like to be a part of something instead of being stuck inside my on head going for rides
With my demon in confessional to whom
In pen in paper I confide.
And while it seems for a while I take it in stride
Every single person underestimates the torture I feel inside.

cigarette smoke slides down the negative spiral
if they still care
if they still mind
dead people in a dead world
i just want to see blood to strike down
the red flood all over me would be such a relieve
from the pain and torture
feel mother earth's tears
crying a tragic death
all the people fight against her tears, she shouldn't cry
but forget
to fight against her death

Ah! the pain that here engulfs
a tragedy cut from one's own blade
that holds most sacred the ravished hour
When words went unsaid.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The tears bellow out and fall
like a story without recall
This haunting world wherein one roams
Like a crashing sea, raging, foams.
The empty eye
the hollowed cry
The days torture rings afar
like the image of a falling star
It crosses the lonely planes of sky
Never knowing its course, the reason why.
Love that undeniable phantom of space
holds upon the mortal race
dreams relished where delights are found
the promise of new found ground
She walks the lonely place of fate
where he stands constant at her gate
but neither one holds the courage true
To simply say, I love you.
Years and folly don't give a ****
where tales they sink and inward jam
The moments quest is to be taken
gathered within and outward shaken
to awaken the moment, the truth to bare
Words spoken, the love to share
Such little things these fears we dread
that leaves us walking like we were dead
It's the simple word that could change a life
awaken within, relieve the strife
that one may walk that scented road
where dreams gather, tales are told
and love that merry tune of life
Finds man and woman, husband and wife.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

There she sits in
a cement structure
that is
scarred by the torture
of poverty
and mother nature.

Her deep brown eyes
stare from a
broken glass window,
pondering
the growling
disposition
of her stomach.

Till, it becomes
just some noise
she forgets to hear,
and the feeling
becomes
some numb
buzzzzzzzz
in the back ground
of her exhausting
existence.

She is a still specter,
a powerful presence
in a place I have never seen,
memorialized for my
consumer eyes
by a photographer.

Hopeful humanist,
Howard G. Buffet
presents this
stark truth to me
in a photo reality.

So, all this fluff poetry
is an artistic assumption.
What gumption
I have to put words
to a world that
I have never been to,
seeing the starving children
while I am stuffing
my comfortable face.

She is symbolic of
human beauty and grace
in times of struggle
while I am a product
of comfort, excess, and human waste.

How do these
two extremes
exist
in the same
time?

I find myself tangled in the lump of my throat.  
Trapped somewhere between my mind of logic and my twisted and aching heart I am dizzy with conflict.  
I am worth something.  
I am worth nothing.  
I am worth more than words can offer.

That familiar lump squeezes and twists my weary emotions as I grasp for a momentary breath of logic.
A thought that reassures what kindness says; an understanding that I am so much more than what he said.  
But in that moment his words, his actions; they come crashing down on me as the lump threatens to engulf me.

Pain and bitter bile wash over me
The choices seem so non-existent.  
Why else would his hatred spiral?  
Why else would a child so young bear such deep and burdened scars?

It must be because I am worth so little.

The secrets that we shared.  
The secrets that I keep.  
These are the fuel to ignite a burning lump of torture.  
I struggle to move on
I struggle to let go while the lump clutches its tiny treasure.  
How do I feel my worth when all I feel is the pain wiping away even the smallest doubt that he might have been wrong?

I want to breathe.  
I want to feel the full capacity of worth expand until that lump of disbelief is pushed aside for good.  

I want to exhale until I know that he was wrong.

Man is surrounded but by difficulties in all aspects
Most of the time he has to pay the price for defects
Divine angels are guarding the neglectsof suspects
Survival of the fittest make hurdles for all subjects

Continuous struggle can take the victims out of rut
Man is what and what is his fate being in the transit
Unity is abolished and man is in dire need of the unit
And Satan is also in the path to get flattened  target

In severe helplessness one shouldn't break the chain
All miseries,odds and torture just go down the drain
Today may be worse badly inflicted by flooded rain
Tomorrow is another day when sun will shine again

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow

It beckons from the depths;
A rage simmering,
Brought on by defiance;
Who shall run this life?
No one but ourselves;
We don't have the heart,
For petty games;
No mercy for the wicked,
The purest of mind;
The simplest of soul,
Harbor the darkest;
Side of evil,
For we know who we are;
Not your stepping stone,
Nor your passing fancy;
We give of ourselves,
For the greater good;
Not to be taken lightly,
Because once you've had your fill;
We come for your reckoning,
Have you paid your dues?
We will spare you no torture...
© okpoet

the story starts with a wee little boy.
Staring at the world with wonder,
and he had the audacity to challenge fate.
He never knew,
that by 3 words,
his life would fall before his very eyes.
He marveled at the piano,
as he wanted to die.
Yes, thats all he wanted
to die.
He watched things get smashed.
He watched himself cry in the mirror,
but "how ugly you are"
he would tell himself.
People held him to make an image.
Wear a mask,
light smile,
play dumb.
Truth was my mind was too smart,
so instead of playing dumb,
i LIVED it.
I made sure no one would know who I was.
What he made me become.
As if my life was a game,
and the story would shift at any time.
Clocks began to be my enemy.
They would tease me saying,
"how long have ya been here?"
I hate the corners of buildings.
The 90 degree corner calling my name.
The torture it held.
The backside of me,
made an *** of itself,
though it already was an ***.
The wee little boy.
died inside,
but kept living,
lips cold,
eyes rolled,
and he just kept going.

Blurred line with shined pebbles glisten with
Fame and torture
Speckled with a dream deferred
Untie your shoe laces at the door
The madness of the man playing with words
Is only funny
Until the dream becomes a reality
The drama of this life is too mad to comprehend
Yet life
However you want to see
Rolls on and on
Bank tellers stretch their lives out
As if they were
The dollars which they grip day in
And
Day out
Me
I try to stay in the shadows
Watch with my ears
Taste what I can get
As well as
Make way for the day ahead

Lifeless beauty that lives everlasting

Time that reason cannot change

O enchanted torture you have stolen

The taste from my mouth

Masked I against the spectre of reality

The dawn is breaking
Raindrops slowly trickle down the window
Winding in a circular motion
Finally falling to the ground
She listens to him breathing
The signs of *** lingering inbetween the wine and the ****
She looks around
Pictures hanging in rows
Someone else's memories
She tries to remember
There was a time
A long time ago
Faint picture of a girl
Innocent
Gone now
Why the hell does she torture herself
The girl has gone
Long gone
Turned to stone
Time for her to go too
Someday she would show them
Ram it down their throats
Someday she would walk through that door
Stare them in the face
She would tell them straight
I made it
The rain cleansed for a time
She felt pure
Someday
She would show them
Someday.

Love has no language, every language is language of love
Kine-sics communicate more beautifully in real situations
Eyes with their movements communicate open just now
Love always remains in front while beauty behind cannons

Farhad being true lover of Shirin ,an ordinary stone cutter
Embraced his love and could opt to dig a forty mile canal
Became extraordinary in his love pursuit being on love altar
Keeping in mind his rationale never ever lost his morale

Love is a constant and continuous torture with chains of gold
It makes a beggar a king with all luxuries and real pleasure
Beauty demands and tests a lover to come up to occasion be bold
Beauty is a worldly treasure of a beloved and lover is soothsayer

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow

I walk in, everyone looks at me from the sound of the door opening
But it feels like a million laser beams are burning me to the core
Suddenly I feel weak, vulnerable
Every amount of confidence goes away
I feel so helpless, scared and sensitive
Like I'm screaming for help and no one can hear me
They just stare at me like I'm a ******* idiot for being this emotional over something any sane person shouldn't be afraid of
I feel so lost, in a world full of pain
I'm trapped under a spell and I can't escape, I feel like a puppet on strings
I feel held back from living my life on the sidelines instead of taking control
I will never escape this torture
I feel so alone

“In the eyes of the beholder,” they say,

Beauty is found,”

But this beholder is in disarray,

Every calorie, every ounce, every pound

Seen through glasses in decay



“Unlovable” the voices yell

Confusion surrounds as lies become truth

Life is now a place of torture, a place called hell

My body is covered in battle wounds



Ugly, worthless, fat

These voices tell me

They don’t hold back

The remnants of the pain is all debris



Broken and alone

I cry out to no avail

Even in my sleep, I moan

Her soul is damaged and frail

Epigrams II

Love is either wholly folly
or fully holy.
—Michael R. Burch

Civility
is the ability
to disagree
agreeably.
—Michael R. Burch

Death is the ultimate finality
and banality
of reality.
—Michael R. Burch



Original Prose Epigrams

We cannot change the past, but we can learn from it.—Michael R. Burch

Experience is the best teacher but a hard taskmaster.—Michael R. Burch

Time will tell, as it always does in the end.—Michael R. Burch

When I was being bullied, I had to learn not to judge myself by the opinions of intolerant morons. Then I felt much better.—Michael R. Burch

One man's coronation is another man's consternation.–Michael R. Burch

The most dangerous words ever uttered by human lips are 'Thus saith the LORD.' — Michael R. Burch

Hell has been hellishly overdone.—Michael R. Burch

If one burns below, what the hell is "above"?—Michael R. Burch

Teddy Roosevelt spoke softly and carried a big stick;
Donald Trump speaks loudly and carries a big shtick.
—Michael R. Burch

Thanks to politicians like George W. Bush, Sarah Palin, Michelle Bachmann and Donald Trump, we now have a duh-mock-****.
—Michael R. Burch

As a general rule of thumb, ignore naysayers unless you agree with their criticism.—Michael R. Burch

Love is exquisite torture.
—Michael R. Burch (written after reading “It’s Only My Heart” by Mirza Ghalib)

Poetry moves the heart as well as the reason.
—Michael R. Burch



Epigram Translations

Birdsong
by Rumi
loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Birdsong relieves
my deepest griefs:
now I'm just as ecstatic as they,
but with nothing to say!
Please universe,
rehearse
your poetry
through me!

Raise your words, not their volume.
Rain grows flowers, not thunder.
—Rumi, translation by Michael R. Burch

The imbecile constructs cages for everyone he knows,
while the sage (who has to duck his head whenever the moon glows)
keeps dispensing keys all night long
to the beautiful, rowdy, prison gang.
—Hafiz loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

An unbending tree
breaks easily.
—Lao Tzu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Little sparks ignite great flames.—Dante, translation by Michael R. Burch

Once fanaticism has gangrened brains
the incurable malady invariably remains.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Booksellers laud authors for novel editions
as pimps praise their ****** for exotic positions.
—Thomas Campion, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

No wind is favorable to the man who lacks direction.
—Seneca the Younger, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Hypocrisy may deceive the most perceptive adult, but the dullest child recognizes and is revolted by it, however ingeniously disguised.
—Leo Tolstoy translation by Michael R. Burch

Just as I select a ship when it's time to travel,
or a house when it's time to change residences,
even so I will choose when it's time to depart from life.
—Seneca, speaking about the right to euthanasia in the first century AD, translation by Michael R. Burch

Improve yourself through others' writings, thus attaining more easily what they acquired through great difficulty.
—Socrates, translation by Michael R. Burch

Fools call wisdom foolishness.
―Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch

One true friend is worth ten thousand kin.
―Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch

Not to speak one’s mind is slavery.
―Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch

I would rather die standing than kneel, a slave.
―Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch

Fresh tears are wasted on old griefs.
―Euripides, translation by Michael R. Burch



Native American Proverb
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Before you judge
a man for his sins
be sure to trudge
many moons in his moccasins.



Native American Proverb
by Crazy Horse, Oglala Lakota Sioux (circa 1840-1877)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

A man must pursue his Vision
as the eagle explores
the sky's deepest blues.



Native American Proverb
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Let us walk respectfully here
among earth's creatures, great and small,
remembering, our footsteps light,
that one wise God created all.



The Least of These...

What you
do
to
the refugee
(the least of these)
you
do
unto
Me!
—Jesus Christ, translation/paraphrase by Michael R. Burch



The Church Gets the Burch Rod

How can the Bible be "infallible" when from Genesis to Revelation slavery is commanded and condoned, but never condemned? —Michael R. Burch

If God
is good
half the Bible
is libel.
—Michael R. Burch

I have my doubts about your God and his "love":
If one screams below, what the hell is "Above"?
—Michael R. Burch

If God has the cattle on a thousand hills,
why does he need my tithes to pay his bills?
—Michael R. Burch

The best tonic for other people's bad ideas is to think for oneself.—Michael R. Burch

Hell hath no fury like a fundamentalist whose God condemned him for having "impure thoughts."—Michael R. Burch

Religion is the difficult process of choosing the least malevolent invisible friends.—Michael R. Burch

Religion is the ****** of the people.—Karl Marx
Religion is the dopiate of the sheeple.—Michael R. Burch

An ideal that cannot be realized is, in the end, just wishful thinking.—Michael R. Burch

God and his "profits" could never agree
on any gospel acceptable to an intelligent flea.
—Michael R. Burch

To fall an inch short of infinity is to fall infinitely short.—Michael R. Burch

Most Christians make God seem like the Devil. Atheists and agnostics at least give him the "benefit of the doubt."—Michael R. Burch

Hell has been hellishly overdone
since Jehovah and his prophets never mentioned it once.
—Michael R. Burch

(Bible scholars agree: the word "hell" has been removed from the Old Testaments of the more accurate modern Bible translations. And the few New Testament verses that mention "hell" are obvious mistranslations.)



If every witty thing that's said were true,
Oscar Wilde, the world would worship You!
—Michael R. Burch



Shattered
by Vera Pavlova
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I shattered your heart;
now I limp through the shards
barefoot.



Keywords/Tags: epigram humor satire religion politics love poetry hell trump democracy mrbepi mrbepig mrbepigram

Published as the collection "Epigrams II"

I am jealous of spiders
Those small, poisonous creatures

They don't care how small they are
Or how weak they are
They fight for their life despite the conditions

They hunt their prey without hesitation
Without pity
Without fear

They can enter any room
They don't need your permission

They all know their purpose
They all fight for their purpose

They catch or become food

They can create their world however they want
No one tells them how to connect their strings

They are clever
That's what makes them deadly
They are small
That's what extends their limits
They are selfish
That's what helps them survive

Their tiny-dark eyes
Those small marbles that extend their vision to places the human eye could never reach

Their infestation of twisted legs
Those agile limbs that move them with surprising speed and balance through any kind of frictional surface

They exist in every corner
Creep through every opening

They could crawl up your skin,
Plant their deadly kiss under the tissues of your outer layers,
Leading you to an agonizing swell of chemicals that tare and torture your nerves and muscles

The aftereffects are as countless as the number of their species

Pain
Nausea
Headics
Paralysis
And if you are lucky enough,
Death

You could have one of these
You could have all of these
They don't care

They are spiders,

And for them

You are a their predator

And their next victim

Along this cold and broken road
I walk and hum, all alone.
Resting here is more than torture
Cause staying here extends the future...

And wishful thinking can lend its hand,
But wishful thinking can’t lead a stand...

How to escape? I have yet to found.
Screaming, I am.  But not with sound...

Broken and depressed, I was thrown in this place.
My heart holds things you can never erase.
Memories, dreams, and feelings too,
Always have a way of leading back to you...

May my words be glorious
Victorious
Infintisimal
May they be a glitch in the matrix
Seen before
Done before
When it's the first time you hear

May they be the wings of angels
The hands of devils
The non committal
The ever lasting truth
And always
Let all of my words speak to you
In a way you never knew
Let them show deeper meaning
Profundity of feeling

May my words be shouted from a pulpit
Or whispered from a pit
May they be everything
Both fools gold
And wiseman's lesson
An image you see in your mind
The beauty of mankind
And the torture that comes from living
A painting in black and white
With no canvas
And space and shape
Are only sound
Of my words read aloud

May my words be the footfalls
Of a sanguine traveler
A despondent wanderer
Let my words find their home
That they may win or lose
Or be whatever you choose
Let them find you

May my words reach you

Sometimes before bed
I pray in a rush
as a chore
On those nights
I sleep in torture
and awake groggy
wondering why
I didn’t seek
true peace

cement box of aching torture
housing another worst year of my life

airtight vacuum seal my pain
so i never forget

ground into the glossy walls
built on the bones of other pulsating, tired freaks.

They call me crazy
Because I hate life
Maybe they are the crazy ones
Maybe life is a torture
Maybe death is the freedom
The reward for going through
The pain
The heart break
They fear hell
I can't wait to see it
Let's burn
**** it
I want death
Come get me
I dare you
I want to meet satan
Call him a ***** to his face
Laugh when he punishes me
So life or death?
Heaven or hell?

Throw me down,
Down to your feet

Where bugs, dirt, and weeds
Do meet

Torture my soul,
Until I scream

But let you know ,
I will dream

Bind my hands and drag me through
The coals and ember's steam

Lock me in your darkest cell
But I shall always dream

Take my name
And take my world

Take my tears and produce a stream,
Take everything that I posses

But I shall always dream

Spit in my face
Stab my back

Hang me up for the world to see
But no matter what your minds create

I shall always Dream