Saturday, October 1, 2011

Im losing myself in every sense of the word...

I might be dying sooner when I fight these nightly tumors/I assume it’s likely to in times in spite my dicey psyche/You know the drill, buy me screwdrivers to get me railed/Until I’m hammered enough to fall asleep on beds of nails/So take that hacksaw and saw this hack into a thousand pieces/Put it in your mouth and teeth it, chew it ’til it’s ground between ‘em/Drain my blood and use it when you write a page/Describe the taste and tell me if I’m truly worth the ground I sleep in/It’s the semi-psychotic Henny and vodka mix/With some Remy Martin and a medley of monster flicks/I’m on a mission for the ending of all of this/I’m contradictive, full of empty intoxicants/I’m a desperate, desolate mess of skeletons/Who second guesses questions, intentions when all the messages/Mix and sections of skin are left dissected and ripped, infected/With pestilent hexes that exorcists fix, so check it/I got two bad hands and still built this house of cards/Just an average Jack up in the Club who thinks he found a Heart/But I don’t go to clubs and don’t believe in love/Or holding hearts in grips unless this fist is into which it’s bleeding from/It’s bleeding from, it’s bleeding from, it’s bleeding from/I look into the bleeding sun and whisper with my bleeding tongue/All my poems are telling that the bleeding’s fun/

Until this carcass reaches heartless, telling me the bleeding’s done/

After birth, there’s just afterbirth/And after that’s the aftermath and consequences/‘Cause after life there’s nothing that’s after death/And after death there’s no afterlife/And you’ll agree that eulogies and afterwords/Are…words, after birth from aftershocks/And afternoons of afterthoughts/So after you, I’ll follow you to Acheron/

And after all, while you can’t just save yourself/

From this place in Hell I’ll say farewell until the sun decays/With eyes open hoping nowhere nosy poachers dug our graves/The silence is talking, walk-in, we’ve all been in coffins/Hostage to cautious responses, solemn and lost in the nonsense/Often I follow my conscience, bottle and swallow my problems/Wallow in hollow with processes, toxic hostile menages/It’s just another itchy finger that I know expects to pull it/And I’m in the line of fire every time you’re sweating bullets/Because…(these nights) it’s getting harder now to go to (sleep tight)/When everything is haunting me…Until I take my heart and squeeze it ’til the bleeding stops/(Speak to God), but I’d rather go and (reach the stars)/

So I could pluck one out the sky to navigate inside this shallow grave/

If I can’t find my way back home/Know that I’m safe in these catacombs/I stand alone in the window with the casket closed/And latch to hold the stack of bones/

Yeah this ship is on the path I roam, but that’s just home/

my go-to song.