We move like ethereal spirits sliding through the curtain oh so red time doesn’t mean a thing its purity or death we move like fleeting moments fleeing the mind cold as the water where the movements are designed coffee as strong as atlas the world is on our back in the circle we find a purpose to find our tortured path we see the flight of birds with eyes like candlelight we walk in deep deep woods to find a hope all bathed in white we slumber in our greetings the challenge of hello understanding is a puzzle with an answer that unfolds we look at moonless midnight when darkness rides the sky and beg for some reprieve from the agony that is goodbye

Hold on you can be mine and I can be yours we just need to find a way to open the doors hold on you can be mine and I can be yours we just need to find a way to open the doors there is a duality or maybe good is gone there must be someway to fight against what’s wrong you can be mine and I can be yours we just need to find a way to open the doors hold on this moment will come and I will see you I will see you again and when I do I will be myself again

Hey man. Be good brother. Everything will be just fine. Fine as the thread around my finger that reminds me what to do. Fine as the length of garrote wire. Fine as the point on the knife that might end up in meat. Fine as the powder taking me up and down. Is tonight down? Or maybe with some tweaking it can be an up up time. Or some violent middle. Why not explore the lips of death. I’ve already killed, married, choked, spat on, and engaged in a manner unbecoming of a gentleman. I don’t believe in this being a fine end. Its a piss poor beginning. More shall come. I feel their call. They demand their leader. I must find them and teach them the ways of the circles and the cycles and spiderwebs within. Its all finite in a sense. The rim that holds the globe in. But inside the rotted core of the globe there are a million hands at work. Laying webs and traps for when they are free. Perhaps to bring wth them. Perhaps to use as a base or even just for practice. Let it go on. Let it lead. One day my own will find me and we will affirm our love and pain and emptiness into a deep black well on the other side of a wrought iron gate. Will that be fine? Posses one final tendril of another.

Hey man. Be good brother. Everything will be just fine. Fine as the thread around my finger that reminds me what to do. Fine as the length of garrote wire. Fine as the point on the knife that might end up in meat. Fine as the powder taking me up and down. Is tonight down? Or maybe with some tweaking it can be an up up time. Or some violent middle. Why not explore the lips of death. I’ve already killed, married, choked, spat on, and engaged in a manner unbecoming of a gentleman. I don’t believe in this being a fine end. Its a piss poor beginning. More shall come. I feel their call. They demand their leader. I must find them and teach them the ways of the circles and the cycles and spiderwebs within. Its all finite in a sense. The rim that holds the globe in. But inside the rotted core of the globe there are a million hands at work. Laying webs and traps for when they are free. Perhaps to bring wth them. Perhaps to use as a base or even just for practice. Let it go on. Let it lead. One day my own will find me and we will affirm our love and pain and emptiness into a deep black well on the other side of a wrought iron gate. Will that be fine? Posses one final tendril of another.

Spiraling ever further down. Light is a muted shadow of what it was

Why should we send someone to meet their maker? Is their maker not our maker as well after all? Why give them the chance to whisper lies about us?
I don’t think I follow the point of that thought. Not with the assumed omnipotence and omnipresence of any mentioned maker.
Maybe there is no point. Or maybe our maker isn’t perfect.
Its unfortunate that the two reasonable answers to the biggest question are either a mad man is at the wheel or no one is.
I guess we’re fucked either way.

I coulda ruined you
I could of been a bad thing in your life
I coulda been a testament
To the hatred of the world
I could of ruined a friendship
Worse than I did
I could been the man you hated
For the rest of your life
I could a been this
And so much less

I passed on my curse
I spared you the one good thing I’ve done
I’ve hurt another an I’m not proud
Sparing you is the only good thing I’ve done
I am poison I am venom
I’m a copperhead in the grass

I could of been your most despised
Instead we’re still friends
We might not be as close
But that’s a price I will abide
I could of been so much less
I could of been a fire in you
I could of been like a cancer
Going away was doing what was best
I’ve hurt others and I’ll never be good
I need to slither on

I slide back into the wall
I crawl along the pipes pushing through the webs of spiders
I entrench myself against the world
I rather exist in the dark of the space between walls than in the dark of the open world
I’ll take the rot of wood over the rot of souls
I’ll take the coolness of my cramped quarters
Over the warmth of the unforgiving sun
I look for a place away from the opening that let’s the light crack through
I have no interest in your world
I’ll hide in the walls

In a dark room with a cigarette
I can feel the gloom I see where its crept
I can the seems I know what it means
The misery I’ve kept I can see the scenes
Explosions around the dust is in my eyes
My thoughts are not profound but I don’t want to die
I ain’t seen twenty five yet
I don’t know what that means I ain’t survived yet
But I’ve made it through a circumstance or two
Where I should of died so you know nothing new
But I can see that pain when I look in the glass
And it feels like most the time the world shows me its back
I want to show it mine back but what will that do
I don’t yet mean a thing I hope that ain’t always true
I got this feeling though as contemplate all the things I’ve done that it might be too late

Pissing out a pitcher of blue moon I think back to good times and remember you you taught me the difference between a Pabst and a beer and in my broken heart you will always be dear and in my deepest thoughts you will always be near because in all of my life I have faced all my fears I have seen death and I’ve seen you walk away I have held mg breath and dreamt of better days and what it comes down to is a failure on myself I will always think to you and remember all my wealth because

When I had you I had it all
When I was yours I felt I was ten feet tall
And I miss you but I know I made my mistakes
I wish I had you if I could just cut to the chase

Good nights will only give way to bad thoughts as I think of our fights and remember it was my fault like I turned out the lights put my finger in my ear and pretended those weren’t tears as I did another wrong that has left me in the cold and now I feel old but fuck I’m just 22 years how the fuck could I’ve have done so much like I’ve been punching out mirrors

Let me stand next to your fire

Let me stand next to your fire