To answer your question, it could be I stopped believing
years ago when I sent my friend before the chopping block.
Stop! I'll sell information for passage.
Stop! I'm scared to death of dying.
Where she lives.
Such a shame.
Where she hangs.
I'll take the blame.
Where she showers, even.
Stop! I'll give you the words you want if you make this hurting stop.
Stop! You don't have to crack my brain open with a hammer chop,
you don't have to use pliers to pry what you want from my head,
when you can listen to me talk freely, then take the message and run.
Where she lives.
Such a shame.
Where she hangs.
I'll take the blame.
So much will change.
Where she showers, even.

But if you call for me, I'll be there.
Wearing a straight face that's
driven me here, so insane, I don't
care how rapidly my conscience
eats the very strength on which
I stand. I'm alive without the will to live.
But if you call for me, I'll  be there.
Wearing a straight face.

This whole line of life stinks
because I had to tell a lie
to keep the peace between
my children.
This city knows no sun.
From the rain, there's nowhere to run.
I love windows now more
than ever.

Hold me, walls, I can count that you're stable
the mistakes I distribute on the daily straight
from my pockets, I feel sure and safely better
disconnected. The actions I bring in tether and
tow absolutely have no bearing on whether
you're standing tall. No. My children won't
be all aboard this orchestra. Complete erasure
is the one remaining measure to take. I won't
deliver their fate. I won't deliver their fate.

Hate me. Why not take an arm off?
Maybe my arm's already gone and missing.
Maybe tonight's the night I won't
wake from sleeping.
Shame as pestilence incarnate
rakes my beating heart and brain.
Nails as sharp as shards of memory.
I ingest the scent of corpses in a
cold storage adorned with limbs and organs,
underneath the floor of that burned
out/burned in periphery beneath the rain.

Sprang up again, arose in sweat,
toward the toilet. Some things never change.
Will this never change?

Hard jobs **** up my night,
and I can't rest in day.
Hard jobs **** up my day,
and I can't rest through night,
but I cannot stay awake.
What came before comes now,
becomes the future, turning loops.
The present keeps pace steady, only to
slide the Earth below me to prove

Some things never change.

Come join the fun at the club,
it's a new dream. A real good one.
-- It's a nightmare.
Hear these words stare into my eyes,
find a doorway. Sense of safety.
Fall on sword for those you adore
to claim escape. By deception.
-- It's a nightmare.

Flesh and bone, muscle covering.
This is more than just ***.
I am alone, but for you.
This is a servant's one wish:
To serve and not regret it.
How I wish I could change
the answer, but it won't change.

Enjoy the drugs well enough?
Had your music? Then leave with me.
-- It's a nightmare.
Rip my shirt, uncover my flesh
in the alley. That's a good dog.
Lick my heels and follow me, still.
Why did you bite in the first place?
-- In the first place.

Flesh and bone, muscle covering.
This is more than just ***.
I am alone, but for you.
This is a servant's one wish:
To serve and not regret it.
How I wish I could change
the answer, but it won't change.

I realize how you must see me.
I assure you, there's another side.
When you wake up next you
won't remember any part of this.
I'll be an eternal ghost as I get shoved
out of the picture as quick as you met me.

Please be still, I want you in pain,
but not that much. You're difficult.
-- He's a nightmare.
I like you undressed down to the flesh.
Your skin creases to the bone saw.
Don't speak words, but scream as you please.
I need music. I need trophies.

So you want to use me?
So you want to see where is the edge?
Your aim isn't to light gas on fire so
much as find the flashpoint
definitively so when you come back
you'll be in that safety zone, the
one where you retain full control
over each crease and fold
But each moment to unwind
my eyes roll up, tune out, my
memories display corporeal
because it's my distinct disorder
I live in fear of the guilt
my only reprieve found in glass
containing first liquid and plant
consumed into ash and emptiness
that grants me passage to escape
to pen and paper may in the
end, only leave me mindful

I'm not the money tree grown
on the coastal
cliffside, nor the home
you've been dreaming up
worlds away from here
-- Gone
When I know I am
-- Gone
Worlds away from here
-- Gone
What will I do
-- With my new papers
With so much freedom?
Free from shackles and
collar

I wasn't born for you,
born from you

How's it come to this?
I thought you were in my corner
But not
With a gun!

I've only been as astute
as you've asked me.
I've only taken opportunity
where it presents itself.
Like you taught me,
there's nothing wrong
with taking the things
right in front of you
if there's something there
you want
bad enough.

I should have put you to death
the first moment I realized you
were out
of control!

There was no control for you
from the beginning
were you so lost in yourself
you weren't paying attention
to the fact that I've been
pushing you aside
while I slip inside?
I've been at the helm
longer than you imagine
I've been steering this ship
into hysteria.

All I've lost.
All I gave.
All I offered expecting
favor in exchange.
All I've lost
I let you take
while I stood by
digging my grave.
You have no respect for me
or for any other. The love
innate I prayed to wither away
reflected from waking wide
eyes only in hate.

There hasn't been a day gone by since I first said this to you,
that my undying romantic dream is to respect and believe in
the terrible things you do. Last time I saw you blessed to touch
another human's heart when they believed you would remove
the rust you just stood in acceptance with palms open knowing
you would soon shut your hands. You're a trap for madness.
Blessed too, from birth to death, with a magic attracting the
most fragile, those mostly broken already. Those farther from
full than empty. Now and again I question if you know what
you're doing or if you're possessed.

Years later, you're still sitting and spinning where others improved.
Boys, toys, and nicotine mixed with THC in the air to breathe.
What mattered the most even to those who never spoke the words,
you let impress the stress marks on your couch. And here you
thought stretch marks and acne scars were the worst of life, and
now you've got stretch marks and acne scars, must be due in
part to the confidence you'd be no better off. Now you're no better
off, than you were before. Now it's five years on, and you've
learned nothing more.

I can say
Maybe I'd believe you
If you weren't
so prone to hard
stop/restart