A Contented Smile Sometimes Doesn't Hurt

Sitting and sighing, I wait for you, by this window I try to know you,
The trees heave tiredly in the breeze, The grass grows noiselessly;
I want this rain to stop inside of me, The gray never seem grayer
My heart has never known fire, Bated breath, Naked faith
Missing you awaken senses I never knew could tire,
Apprehension tempered with hurt, Longing amplified by words,
Awake this second, Crying out thine name, Shaking and struggling in bed;
These moments, I wish loving you was less painful, but it is this pain that exaggerates my love
Control spirals away uncontrollably, my five senses defeated,
I hear a thousand wingbeats whenever you are hinted;
Colours fight to resonate when I see my memory of you;
Indecisions languished away, tearing and clawing my heart struggles to cooperate
Oh! To love and to be loved; Oh! To hold and be held
Awaken my slumbering heart for thy love has left
I stand here cowering, crying and yet contented by the weight of my love
Oh! To love is to live

My Dream Comes On Broken Wings

Staring into brightness, feeling the oppression of hues, I sleep awake
Im waiting and wondering, I hold on the fragments of a dream that was to be,
Its moments like these that the intangible seem real, watching butterflies die,
Still coloured but never ever real again, Caressed by the winds of time, they flee my lungs
I try to scream my dreams, yet they come out shattered
Here I am, You are the only one, I let go, I fail, I faltered
Broken and made my mistakes, My whole life grounded into a single dark hole
No one makes me as happy as when you made me whole,
Pound away at these glass lives, see through me, please...why do memories of you not leave me?
My heart is afloat on a thousand memories, a thousand fading memories of you
Let me go, I know memories of you would burn me inside and render me old,
Yet, like moths drawn to a singeing single flame, my heart is aflutter with your burning hurting memories,
CRY it out, tear it out, I scratch it out and attempt to cross it out,
It fades but never fully, The pain abates but never completely,
I'm left here fighting to keep the ghost of your memory from leaving me,
Yet every strand, every fragment of these memories cut me up inside like a thousand razor blades stuck into my heart,
My heart bleeds the darkest tears, The darkest unseen tears
Me, myself and I struggle with this torrent, an endless painful flood, an endless craving drug
What is good for me, never is good enough
A lone voice unheard is a lone pain unfurled,
I bear my scars only so deep only so far, yet i know not this distance, know not this depths,
I only scream when it is going to be unheard, I only bleed when it is unstained,
My private crown of thorns only pricks when it not worn for sympathy,
Repeatedly burnt, scorned and forlorned, Can't you see the cyclical pain in me?
Its like a ball of broken glass that you hold next to your heart,
The pain is the only reminder to me, that I was loved and could love.
The literal absconds with the idea of the lateral,
Pain is love, Love is pain has never been so indistinguishable,
It abides in me, Its abode is me,


This bit of work is dedicated and in memory of someone whom was loved and loved by me,
She was a beacon that showed me that my darkness of heart and thought only existed for the lack of her light. It is truly darker still when there was a light and now its gone.

Death, I Wonder About Thee!

An apocalyptic ending, my death a second before the end of the world,
Am I considered a survivor of an apocalypse then? Succuor my wounds you say!
Leaden with my escape of escapes, my habit somehow radiates and attempts to consolidate
Liquid pain, maiden names, cracked paint on a peeling face,
Disorientate the masses of sores that keep me awake, but it is only these sores that register in my head,
Gravitate and masticate these sour pills that grow off my mortal coils,
An ode to souls that walk beneath me, a curse to the living that seem to love me,
What is this heaving mass that constitutes the end of an eon of parallel existence,
Exist to procreate, to create more death on their behalf, why do they curse me with their curse.
The apple of my eye is the defeat of my mind, lest I dream of other apples of other seeing eyes
I wonder and spend the twilight of twilights pondering on, feeling apprehensive and disgusted,
Death beckons, cajoles, seduces and rejects both the unworthy and the undeserved
Is it true that all men are equal upon death or are they only equal for a moment when they give up the ghost,
Ha! Kisses and Cries
Bah! Deadness and Life

Forgiving Fate

Can you see my razors? Can you see my blades?
Can you see my broken dreams cutting and tearing holes in my side,
Water gushes out, I'm hardly nailed to my own cross
I wander around through my self proclaimed revelry,
I amuse and bemuse in several million attempts to confuse
Can you see my blood-thirsty, dream-consuming insatiable appetite for sadness,
The world needs sadness and much as it needs A God
Can I fare any better? Or is this my one and only best?
Rain pours on these scenes, washing my cuts out for a new outpouring of velvety obscure grief
Sing me praises I say, See through my phases my father bays,
I cannot be blinded but only my blindness seems to save the world
Screams entwined in the cracking of bone, I watch myself through my crown of thorns
Self worship, Self worship, I hate you as much as I wish I could hate myself tenfold,
Wait! I scream as I know my future was never really unknown
Glass shatters and I am chemically induced to the whinings of God's machine
Manifestations of an obscure gestalt conspiratorial tommorow,
Unconcious is how I wish to have lived,
Concious of the unconciable would make me a demi in God,
I live in the present as I forget the past and only pretend to understand a future
I am a chain link fence in a barbed wired world,
I am an angel when a God is needed
I am never truly what I wished I am needed for,
Forgive the wolves, I hope they saved my four chambered glass made heart

Razors As Sharp As The Slivers Off Your Tongue.

Standing on the edge of every storm, I celebrate the taste of every tear,
We remind ourselves that the source of every sweetness tends to be bitter,
We encapsulate the solitude and refine the very nuance that enslaves us,
Why do we seek joy when it repeatedly disappoints and destroys?
Why do we seek this momentary escapade from the inevitability of sorrow?
Hope is but the ashes of ashes, faded from black, always fading and cracked.
I am fated to be created in the likeness of God, that I misunderstand,
For God cannot be like me as I am dead with hate, Disjointed and misguided.

This recent piece is a little weak as I lacked the requisite vision whilst producing it
Bloodied and In a Frenzy.

Your Miniscule Option of Beauty

Today,
I wondered if beauty was possible in this ugly, deafening and hysterically ironic existence of mine,
Slipping of reptilian and enamel encrusted ties,
I seek forgiveness at the altar worshipping everything that stands and signifies hedonism of the human heart,
We seek to be as beautiful as the next impromptu hero of a generation obsessed with physical superiority,
We discard with greater good
Allowances to the next fallen but denial inspired Adonis,
Defines and refined, subliminally cynical of itself,
Ashen wings that are embroidered with a bygone beauty,
Delicate, yet not entirely mellow,
Bright yet not really fading.
Beauty fallen to ashes, yet not truly;
Gravely, I tear but attempt to mirth sincerely.

Every Worm Will Have Its Day

Today,
I watched as humanity struggled and wrestled with reason,
We justify the unjustifiable, we seek the unenlightened in an effort to feel superior,
Every once in a while society requires a messiah to direct us towards the next God,
God, notwithstanding definitions is actually a moral directive that presumes the regulatory role;
Naked and Bored;
Coiled and retired,
Asleep in the gratification of a weep
I'll make no sense and hope I actually don't
For every worm will have its day. 

Pursed Lips Cracked II

I hate what the world has made me;
This would be the gun of lunacy,
The time has come for the force of one
Eradicate this darkness in me;
Oh, God to be your son
The death of one is but the onslaught of more
Try me, vindicate thee,
The sharpness of pursed,cracked and bloodied lips
Judas was a tool or was he?
Fingernails struck out, cables in the sand
The wrath of one, the fall of me
I, have forgotten what it is to honour the son
Oh, to be the God of One.

Written by ONE

Pursed Lips Cracked

Today,
Is the day I will not be happy to die for, Or so I believe,
I know not you,
I care not for you,
I hate to believe that knowing you ever made me feel less angry at myself,
Windows painted over in black, glass shards wrapped in flesh,
The sugar tasting smell of blood, the memory fading strength of denial,
The force of one, the force of the few
The willingness of one to cry for a thousand,
The hesitance of a thousand for one,
Sympathy is for the faithless, flowers are for the loved ones dead or less than dead,
The whiteness of you is nostalgic to me,
I believe in sleep, do you if it isn't ever really for free;
The sanctity of a lucid mind is only overshadowed my the lunacy of my fallacy,
I carve you a crimson bed of gold, made of my finest bone
I purse my lips and try to crack my lips
I see you and wonder who I could have the heart to learn and recount my deceit
I remonstrate for the sleeping gods,
Cracked worn out teeth through glistenning lips I remember what it is to be you.