1 - Past Practice - We would ALL go outside and play in the dirt, roll around, make mud pies and eat them for fun. GET DIRTY, what doesn't kill ya is good for you, Go home take a bath or shower. sometimes no wash up at all...good germs, bad germs they're all around. † Friend or Foe I just don't know? † † † † "Do The Right Thing" † † † 2 - Recent Practice - Wash, Wash, Wash, wash away the germs with Germicide Scrub, Scrub, Scrub...scrub them all away. OH NO!!! Hold on a minute you might be using too much Germicide and you could be hurting your own natural ability to fight...
Guess it's whatever. At least, it is until tomorrow When my mind does a 180į turn And burns me from the inside out. My pieces have been scattering, Lost in the wind. All that remains is dust, Helplessly waiting For new creation And new breath of life Deep within my weary bones.
I have this feeling of dread! I am sitting here on the floor by my bed, Iím supposed to be doing my homework but, Decided to do this instead.
You see, my friend called me today, She froze my heart, You that feeling, the one like an icicle thread? Waving a net, a net of dread.
Iím sitting here in the semi darkness because of the chill in her voice Something happened, what I donít know. She wonít tell me and thatís her choice. But she doesnít know, she doesnít knowÖ Iíve been down this road before. Iíve had friends,...
Everything burns in it's warm flow Blues and yellows to deep seductive orange ashes Until the grey and the unconscious black. Eyes burn with sickening warmth Words drown out the drone of sunlit death I am here, yet lost, in the here. Remembering the hole is always there, A depth of unforgettable blackness The shadow of an old self, Always there to fall back into No matter how far you climb out.
I'm the son of a sadist, the name's Mr Dunne/ A Narcissist with Aspergers, the worse of all one's Cursed since I begun, I was never nurtured by my mum/ So with every verse I spit murder, til the hearses them come Since young I've been abused, at two my mother tried drown me/ Then my father would abuse me, in front of all family They then banned me from writing, the abuse I had suffered/ And like a confused little youth, I then blamed it on my mother Like she hadn't suffered, at the hands of my father/ Whose sadistic...
Does cynicism poison my heart against compassion? Taking my liberties to rephrase the obstacle You boast as if your scars are your significance Bench pressing misery to speak pride like itís a virtue No one is self made, but I hear you
Like trying to garden in a war zone The ground is tilled by bullets and the harvest is watered by blood But your afflictions are not your fingerprints Greater the wounds of the Healer Donít diminish the sound of victory for the distortion of seeming defeat
In a maddening world full of deceit and darkness, I spiral out of control further down an abyss of self-destruction Battling trauma with my mascara-stained eyes, the black charcoal mixes with a subtle hue of my rouge-colored cheeks. Shackled to my inner demons once again I fight this unbearable pain as the razors edge begins to burn jagged lines across my thighs. Blood dripping down my pretty flesh, my fingertips smearing innocence all over my broken shame. Silence. Tears. Smear.