Transition.

Lost in apathy and giving in to ease, an eternal hole inside so painful it brings a grown man to his knees.

A rusty blade to shave my face and erase the mess of the rat race that displaced the purpose of anything worth living, slowly life I'm killing, hope I'm giving...

Away to anyone who'll take it. You all talk a big talk. Offer a hand and wait to shake it, if you don't move it now I think I'll break it.

Take a perfect picture and erase it, so a good memory's wasted, sour is the good I once tasted, don't sip from my cup, it's devils wine I laced it.

You're all oil paintings, I'm a sketchy doodle. You spend time frugal, I spend mine in stacks that slip through cracks growing ever wider, I'm the truest liar, lets face it.
I'm spent but you can keep the change and save it.

I'm just looking for something good. You say I better stop searching, I probably should.

But I'm on a mission seeking some form of transition.

Thick weedy roots wrap around my legs and hold me down like a sick man in bed. They can chain my body but not my head. My brain and soul will keep fighting after I'm dead.

I don't need a thumbs up or a go ahead. I need a compass and some seeds to spread, and a promise that what I sow will flourish. But there's no sun for me, I'm so undernourished.

I need something good to drink to quench my thirst. It all tastes good at first, you keep the holy water and give me something cursed. It burns in my chest, I think my heart will burst or worse, it'll dissappear in a barage of apathy and fear in this unclear and dusky place leaving no trace of the man in the mirror with the once familiar face.

Man's ruin is knocking but I can't help her. I'm locked in but I need shelter, from the unrelenting wind, somebody pull me from the hurricane I'm in, and save me from the forever hungry vultures who live their live's according to mass culture.

It's an invisible torture blind to all but a few. I need something good, I need something new, so I guess I'll join the que and hold my breath until my face is blue, whatever's coming is overdue and subject to peer review by clones who try to force feed their point of view with methods tried and true, but of which I already knew and can no longer digest.

I'm possessed by saints and demons fighting it out for restrained freedom.
This is'nt heaven or hell it's the garden of eden. I've paid my dues but we're still not even, that's why I'm still praying to a man I don't believe in.

I realise now all I've misunderstood.

Give me something new.

Give me something good.