Despite Popular Belief, My Tongue Is Red, Not Silver.

It seems a cheap focus to call out minor details here.
The way you broke like glass when the pressure became too much for you.
Well I'm still here holding up a world you left behind,
Standing with buckling knees on a concrete pedestal doused in flames.
I know that sometimes I need to be brought down off my high horse
But goddammit that horse is all I own.
You wouldn't trade me a penny for all these words
The silly metaphors and useless phrases I regurgitate to pass on a feeling.

I spent years building fences so my feelings would be good neighbors
and stay as far away from my mouth as they could.
I shoved them down so deep it caused an ache in my knees and a
Swelling that will never go away.
Now that I try to channel them here, I find out how hard I made it to feel at all.
It's hard to run from the truth on arthritic ankles, or a wounded knee,
with a broken back and bare feet.
Perhaps a lisp would makes these things a little more interesting to hear
To even my own ears.
I'd almost rather write in another language, just to feel like their were more words
To express the things I wanted to say.
I'm not uninspired, I'm just tired.
Tired of expecting too much from myself, like all these words are gonna make someone remember me.
So I keep writing them, in hopes that they will.
But who will ever read them?
How will they ever make it any further than this page?

It Was Dark..

Midnight sweeping through the graveyard
She never felt the passion like this.
And they never touched this way
But it was just how they wanted it.

Quieter than a heartbeat.

The look he threw into her eyes was priceless
The glance she gave him, the same.
They knew the consequences and what others would say

The grip of her on his back was more than he could bear
The nails clawing into skin so beautifully
She held the touch of fire in her hands.

Then the blood, oh the blood
She began to exsanguinate
The pieces of flesh, she tore away.

She swallowed all of his innocence before she tore the heart from his chest.

Morning growing in the graveyard
The missing body, the tangled mess.
They’ll find him hidden deep in the hedgerow
And she’s nowhere to be found.

A Dead Man Will Not Attend Your Dinner Banquet

Head under metaphorical water, because I'm not truly drowning
But I want you to believe that I'm suffocating in a pool consisting
Of everything from the afterbirth to the liner of my coffin.

Synapse will cease to fire when the room goes quiet.
Because even my nervous system wants to hear the intricacies
Of every world formed from the mouth of someone like you.

I Jump To Conclusions Like It Was Fucking Hopscotch

We gave up fighting for this cause too long ago
Hanging our heads, trudging through the cold and the snow.
The handshakes that sealed the deals for us
As blood red as the killers we had grown to trust.

We all arrived too late for the gun fight...
Throwing in knives, a last ditch effort for sanity
The cry of our own humanity stifled by
The deaths of our sons and our daughters
We sent them to the ocean just to die in the waters.
So tell me where do the children go?
Tell me what have we done?

We sent the shiver and the tingle to your spine
Watching the horror unfold as we prepared you to die.
It's not the first time destruction was set in our minds.

If you call this a life, I call it a lie.

The Kraken Speaks Through Me.....

Run through the hills of North Carolina
And without a doubt you will find
That there is ample reason to leave me to my own devices
My own creatures of habit and turns of phrase
Oh call me a twisted wreck of a shell of a man.
And I'll just point out how you can't look away.

Flee to the ponds in England.
Give their royality your vicious ways.
Your unfit mothers will come calling "bastard".
While they hold their hands out for change.
Or dance inside their burlesque homes,
to make the means to eat.
And I will break my knuckles
in the muck below the banks of the River Jordan.
Crying about how this is the place where miracles are meant to be.
But yet I see no magic before my eyes, and nothing but water before me.
I've felt the trap of an infinite passion for years now.
Long before the twinkle in your eyes led me to believe that
The love that I had given up searching for was still there
And still existed.
And no matter how many times I break skin to let blood drip down to the floor
There will never be anything as scarlet red as the flush in my cheeks the first time
That you told me you loved me.

Oh how the miracles of men get swept under the rug by those who divide our nations with their hatred
and undeniable stupidity.
God, I could rant forever about how the masses are being spoonfed, and to wake up, we must drag the spoon from out their mouth, and leave them be until they're starving, and begging for more.
But that's the job of the poets before me, to hope for the change that I need to make within the world,
To make within myself.
I may only be one man, but by the time I am dead, more than you will know me.
I will be rewritten into your history books, whether people think me a stain on beautiful white sheets.
Or just another poet spewing his useless words from his outstretched hands
trying to make everyone see that life was beautiful, when never really believing it himself.

I've seen the devil, but it is no immortal being, not the one shoved into our eyelids, blazed into our lungs.
The devil is within us all, turning and looking the other way rather than stopping to make a change.
I was the devil.
I was the devil every time I let him lay his hands on her and did nothing.
Looked away and pretending like it was never happening.
I am the devil
You are the devil.
But we can exorcise that demon once and for all if we just try.
Oh God just try.

I regret never saying this sooner.

Is The Best I Can Do, Good Enough?

Another midnight drown the drain again.
Perhaps another night that I'm just truly dying in.
Maybe just dying to
Call you on the phone
Tell you that I love you.
Or maybe just waste away.

I'll walk a thin line. Maybe it's better that way
Get past the red tape. Taking precautions was never my thing.
Maybe I'm just too cautious to
Spill how I feel right to your face.
I hope you can sense it in your bones.
Before I waste away.

Someday I won't be a coward and I'll call you.
Drip words the phone so elegant and sweet.
You'll finally understand all of my being
It belongs to the two of you, and I don't.
I just don't want to waste away.

Call it another midnight down the drain.