Pride
It started out as an obsession; turned into a lifestyle and yet I lay awake at night; was it worthwile; the possessions I owned or was I possessed by them; I was strapped to the floor; I was...
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It started out as an obsession; turned into a lifestyle and yet I lay awake at night; was it worthwile; the possessions I owned or was I possessed by them; I was strapped to the floor; I was...
Only in you do I find peace, my Redeemer. So many questions drown my reason in screams of agony, as the protestations of a screeching wife drowns the goodwill of the most gracious of husbands.
I'm finding each day harder, Each morning is a chore, And I have no reminder, What exactly I'm up for.
I can't stand for much. My life isn't something worth talking about, because if I do, there is no life left to live. I think I can only believe in the unbelievable. It makes more sense.
The lights shine down. All the rooms. A blast of wind. All to soon. The earth shakes. And trembles. A voice cried out. Come with me. But all I did was plead. I don't want to be hurt.
It really bugs me That at every corner, A question poses No forewarning; As if tradition Needs new emissions, Changing rules With every move.
There are some people, maybe many , who you love to the world. and they come to you, when you need them to. They guide me through the night, hold the string, when I'm the kite.
Shivering in an endless shade, I promise you it never goes away. Be my crucifix hold me up, and feel me cry. Feast your eyes, Can't you see me.
I know you're close behind, I can feel your breath, Hidden where I am blind, Pulling me into death. Was my freedom just another one of your lies. Do I even have a claim to my life.
Broken Chair I have a chair but it's broken. I won't let go. I'm carrying my broken chair. We move from state to state. I don't share your pain, I don't hear your cry.
It's just a shame how life decides to implement its rules on you. How no matter what you try you cannot escape its hold and therefore are obligated to live within its rules.
Rhaspy vocals, tired and worn. Working weekdays, morals torn. Concience broken, almost done. Singing in bars since 21. Needles sting and tablets burning. For heavens door, a man left yearning.
*bad language It's a little strange, a little funny. If you feel the same, sing it for me. Get up on your feet, if you want to compete. Or you can back up slowly if you want to retreat.
(Pure fiction). Now I know I've felt it all. Hate and rage and loves enthrall. There's nothing left there's nothing more. Please take me now god I implore. In tired now, I've had enough.
A headstone for the broken. A message for the damned. A hym to all the hated. Wash these Blood drenched weathered hands. A grave for all my sins. A hope for all mankind. Another heart left broken.
G oing against each other, is R eally why they exist, one A nd only brothers, they N ow fight hand and fist.
Under Embankment Station, lying. A man, in a cardboard box, waiting. For Time to come to wake him, trying. To remember all the wrong turns, making. His life this way so hard, ending.
I hear the voices of big waves on seashore, Rising and coming towards me to encore. Countless gifts I received on this day. Wrapped with honesty or duplicity. What can I say.
Imprisoned in walls, sixty feet tall. The fear of the known and scared of it all. Not a world to live in, not a happy place. Racing against Death but He can't keep pace.
When I look into a mirror All I see is dead, dead eyes But how I want to see wings, Spread, showing for all my freedom. If I asked you for help Would you give it to me.
I Miss the ocean. A world of heavy things. That sodden deep below me can't hide. What they want me to see. And I don't know when. Ill ever be free. Because the water calls my name. It leads me astray.
#acrostic #inspirational. Masters of frantic puppetry. Entering a sandman state. The memory shall remain. A belling toll for whom may. Los Angeles was the state. Last caressing load today.
No one really knows how bad it could be to be cursed to never hate, it seems a blessing but really, it isnt. to be alone and never hating it hurts so much.
Can you not feel the birds Crying for mercy. Can you not hear the birds Wingless in flight. Can you not hear the screams of my soul As you're hands are placed in mine.