Raging thoughts Ruminating in the vortex of my sanity Perflxed with the gnaw Of the people ranting like mad dogs And my every muted misery Has become an assylum i could always run to I cried. . I hate . . . I loathe . . Who shall i run to? Who shall heed to my call? Who shall offer an unwarranted cause? . . . to a puppet, who was never lost.
You have to know that she didn't kill herself that afternoon.
It was a mild day in January, we sat outside over sandwiches. She said she had begun to practice yoga again, take biking lessons, rewrite her poetry with lust and pride and so she didnít kill herself that afternoon. She hugged me, went home, cranked the garage doors open, scuffed through the garish leaves of orange and red that brought on grief.
This struggle we are struggling isnít ours alone. We did not invent loss. We are not the first to have vows smashed with a bitter hammer. But god, she has been battling...
Stare at the ceiling Think No - Nothing Roll Chin to Sheet Stare at the pillow Think Memories Uncomfortable Stir crazy Go outside Smoke Bored. Bored. Bored Eyes tired Lay down Stare at the ceiling Think
From the words of a broken heart I have to say I haven't seen the light for a day I do not want to anyway It won't ever agree with me But I will try to Between the nights I have to agree, even so The night is tied Look around you What do you see? Stars are falling in and out of time It's a journey to no man's land Back to reality, breaker of illusions I have to say People are always saying things they shouldn't say Put it away; Hide it away; and don't show it
I don't believe in rainbows nor in pots of gold, I don't worship my ego as I don't worship at all. I live in all humility, humbly serving humanity. Sentenced to exile in foreign land, surrendering to the power dominating all mankind. I seek knowledge to be empowered. I hail her divinity as a man devoutly should. The moralista claims perfection is in the do's and don'ts, but such beauty is in a whip, that breaks the spirit and livelyhoods. It tares away the will of man without ways to make...
I hate myself, I wish I would die. Its like starring death in his eyes. But death never makes a move or sound. Its like time stopped but everyone moves around. I flirt with razors and guns. Only stopping because of my daughters and son. If something takes me, take me soon. I wish I would die this very afternoon. To much stress, to much pressure. To much pain, not enough pleasure. Quietly laying and starring at the ceiling. Suffering from a malfunctioning thing called feelings.
Feeling entrahled by my mind's submission, careless walking without recognition, I spent my days above the walls that crumbled, bringing me to my defeat. I sense no relief in my agonising soul, beyond this reality to which I fold. Reckless wagers of times composed; releasing tears of dew and mold. If I, by some chance, arise, I will fear no evil before my eyes. But if my fear should turn to miserable regret, my life will end in certain death.