The Best Gift

Friday, August 25, 2006

Bending, bleeding in the heart of someones mother, I felt the deep proceedings in the scars of another. I really tried to do your daughter good enough, but the string only runs so far, selling your soul and all. Trying to blame but it just ain't workin' out. Devalued confidence, I whisper when I shout. Turmoil turned into scarecrows burried alive. But this tried and truest barrel only holds so much rain. A sallow countenance for the world to witness here. Drops to the floor, flooding, the only worthy tear. After hours begging, my knees drip rancid blood,awakening reminders of a self I thought was gone. Well,well, well is there a winner in this game? Or does it really matter when some things never change.
I saw you when I least wanted to. So much the worse for all the wear & tear. From protecter and mentor to live-in tormentor. Of course you had to go,Maslow's damn pyramid. Reduced to lowest terms by reciprocal demands.
Every man still wants to know where he stands. Now I know where I stand, on my own hind legs. The best gift you ever gave me was when you left me.

Set Me Free

With scapel like precision and the patience of a vulture,heads rolled, hearts were broken by well chosen words.
Thieves in the night,Banshees bay at searchlights. Unable to come in from the cold, the tie goes to the gunner.The unbearable din of female laughter crashes through my own personal gaurdrail. Sliding down the bannister into a firestorm. Cradled in the unclean hands of an indentured master. I sit in a circular pit fashioned of wrought iron and wanton flesh. Scattering stress fractured bones of friendless pets.Screaming at the night to let me be. Begging with the dark to set me free.

The Spectre

A blessing on your eyes, a stillness from the pain
All will be forgiven with the comming of the rain
The shallow pool of yesterday, soon it will be full
The Spectre in the corner is pearched upon a stool

The tale told once, one quiet night so very long ago
The truth of kings, lost not through time, lay covered up with snow
A cry for help, a need unmet has called Him to this place
Still huddled in the corner, the Spectre with no face

He was sent to hold you captive,or perhaps to gaurd your life
In one hand there's an olive branch, the other holds a knife
Once summoned by the ancients, through motives that were clear
Fade more obscure, with less import, with every passing year

As tears form in his reddened eyes, the Witness in your room
A cross between salvation and all impending doom
And though you should not fear Him, it just might be the case
For I am that silent image, the Spectre with no face

New & Different

Toiling away,Everyday, Silence it slices with nothing to say.
Crammed into space, most face to face. Take nothing with you when leaving this place.

Passive obsessive, don't say nothing.
New and different, something unknown.

Held to my word by something you heard, Heart beating fast like the wings of a bird.
Shadows that glow, swing to and fro, torn and tormented by all that you know.

Passive obsessive, don't say nothing.
New and different, something unknown.

Dragged from the crowed for thinking aloud, finding unwinding is slow in this shroud.
Blisters arise, burned by your eyes, bested by others who rule with their lies.

Passive obsessive, don't say nothing
New and different, something unknown.

Evil Seesaw

Scattered shabby memories cloud the inner eye.
A breathless hope against all time,crawl, crawl, fall.

Borrowed time and intrest due, settle up or get out
Disapproval bends the brow. What does the pool reflect?

The bottom seems to drop when you walk by, far too serious for a dreamer such as I.
Thrill of mortal fear rings in your ear,days of fallen plans cause you to erode.

Im on an Evil Seesaw in the playground that is my life
Dictate my mood, an interlude, up,down, up.

Finding no escape the Wheel of Fate spins ever on.
Thirsting for an answer between madness and the dawn.


Thursday, August 24, 2006

You raise your glass and lower your brow, and tell me that I don't know how
to gain all that I aspire to.

You raise your glass and make a toast, to all the things that you hate most
and come to in the morning with the demons.

With unpaid dues and lame reviews you school me on the latest news
and point out all the social implications.

I see your need and feel your greed groping about the room
for a semi-friendly ear that you can bend on.

If I recall your early life you strived to be a rich mans wife,
a life so far and free from strife, but too bad.

He left a nasty scar on you, you leave a lasting scar on me
so far from the reality we'd dreamt of.

Who sent you anyway

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

I tear the picture from the wall, and throw it halfway down the hall
And kick and scream and curse at God, Im not myself, I feel quite odd
On a tempest bed I hear your voice, and wish back then I had a choice
But in stepped fate whose fickle hand has scattered hopes and dreams across the land

These madmen who approach me
Who has sent them, they seem to know me
They read my mind like an open book
and steal my secrets with just one look

And then there came another day,I don't know when I lost my way
A man was preaching Anti-Christ, he tried to sway me with all his might
As he slithered back from whence he came I was glad he never spoke his name
With his crown of thorns and can of beer, I wondered who had sent him here


Writing in a dead mans diary, with a celtic knot in my throat. Twice death, the pain of the lonliest souls.
The barred windows forbid unwelcome entrance into the shrine, Temple of the Left Behind.
Too weak to make the journey, the sojourn to Nirvana. The catatonic drift, my leaden arms won't move. I hear but cannot answer to your call.
Yet I try, I will, if only in my mind.
I wrestle in a conflict that has no resolve, no resolve.`

Silver Tongues

Silver tongues, soft words and an eye on the door. Uncoordinated efforts fall short of the mark. I hear good sounds, it all sounds too good to be true, is it?

There is much to be done given the time frame. A pale remnant of what it once was. Burdended by the words they used to bring this madness. None feel sorry for them that turned the cards. A deep dark death will be their lot.

They will be the lucky ones......

Them that die.

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