Dark place with the glock aimed Ain’t a tame thought in the way Faced lead shots, taste great
Sippin’ at the glass filled with 9s I feel I might blast Trippin’ thinkin’ this moment is the last
Chill, it ain’t a crime to feel bad
But it’s like I’ve had more than enough time to go mad A rough road and grip slippin’ on the cut rope Stuck hope wishing, can’t cope If I go missin’ no one’ll know, the Earth won’t stop its roll
This ain’t a new feelin’ You’re just dealing with repressed demons They’re creepin’, keep seepin’ through the crack peekin’ Speakin’ to the your inner thoughts and your dreams that they haunt Intentions to freak you out when from the shadows they scream and shout Drought of the good days, dark thoughts replay They’ve plotted out what they’ll say and anticipate how you’ll behave It’s rouse, the truth is that good news lies at the end of the tunnel The struggle leads through a path of rubble A mountain and a climb, fighting evil the whole time Harpies and vultures, from time to time a poacher
Jack loves the drugs. The drugs love Jack. But Romeo and Juliet don’t belong together.
As if something is missing words echo existing madness. They’re always persisting. Lost self with bad habits. Identity ravaged by guilt which has managed to linger and damage the hopes meant to manage the goals I’ve established. The wind blows with a whisper. Crisp hands filled with blisters bleed black ink, sinister. Fear to blink for the monsters sing from the darkness. Ringing shrieks last the longest. Haunting freaks from the back of the mind, begging me to head for the shadows each time. Like felines ask to be pet and loved with hidden agendas to capture and mug. Iron bars, no free will. Screaming from inside of glass jars. Not a peep, air is still. To a crisis I speak, my intentions are weak, suicide is too bleak, but I shiver. Floor boards creak as the demons stalk me. I always escape. Is running my fate? Surviving is great, but what will it take to live? To choose what I give? To stand along with things I love and insist I’m not caught by the whiff of a flame? A rose by any other name. Why can’t I admire without sacrificing my brain? Am I…
Thinking about mortality and the love of creating.
Often conflicted and quite difficult to please, a complicated pursuit to remain busy and create overtakes. It’s aimless, but fueled by the imagination of a mind never silent. Thoughts without sleep. A perpetual anxiety holds on the brink of psychological collapse. Everlasting depression lingers in the background with awareness of mortality and the shortness of time. All the things wanted but only few will unfold before the red curtain drops, the lights shut off and the stage plunges to darkness. Countless tail-chases to the priceless and of meaning. Naming it purpose. Hoping it doesn’t come across as…