(no subject)
Over the course of the storm, I wrote a LOT. I figured I'd share it because hell, it's poetry, and that's why I joined. So check it out, jankas.
Just Another Ghost Town
The faces are degraded. You know nothing of this travesty. So go on your way... you have nothing here, there is nothing left to see. Just ruins; distant heartbreak that I've already forgotten. But anyway, I still smell the filth on your breath. Sickened by desire, and coping with the molestation presented on my mantelpiece. Run knives like a gristmill for recognition. Sitting in the middle of nowhere has its strong points; for instance, I'm done before I fucking began.
Why Plus Ex
Psychopathogenic. Curt and cruel, the spider in my veins. Tear in, and sip deep. You eat like a pig, lover. So scrape the plates with your credit cards and pray you can buy love. It runs at the highest rates, but it can smash through a floodgate. You're that snake with tempting suggestions... I take the bite. Lure me in on vindictive scales and take what you'd have. Your eyes read digital, I can taste the binary flowing from your fingertips. A sick-sweet foundation meant only for my lips. Your independence has been broken, and you drool on site for more fresh meat. Sink your teeth right into this juicy overabundance. You'll have me scarce by sundown and numb like a firecracker. Pop, boom, and you can call me scatter-brained. This is a heavenly departure. I bite the church curb and swear to a stranger that I'd never get caught. But you can't run away with the chain attached. Forever yours, shoot me down.
Contraband And One-Night Stands
What's new? Nothing new. On these well-trodden fields it will always be the same. What are you waiting for? You have all night to tear me down. For once I wish you wouldn't save your salvation... for once it's needed... for once I'll listen. I can't brave these heights on my own. I now believe that the hand that feeds me can be the one to help me up. A face like yours, a hand like the one I used to hold. That all seems so long ago, so lost and distant. I would give everything I have for an ounce of what you could give me. Could I just have that? Nothing more, but the salt of your tears to fuel me or the red from your lips to block out the color of sadness. Only you can help me scale those heights. I love you and don't forget it, because I never will. What did I do? Where did you go? What are we now? Dead.
Can't Breathe Or Never Wanted To
Your eyes are a prize, a present for the ill of heart. So take my skin and bathe in my fashion, my glamour, my beauty, my fucking compassion. Possession is nine tenths of the law - well you've stolen my heart and the pigs are on the loose. You're a criminal, a dirty crook. Faux pas in the fox's den at a quarter to one with blood in my pen. You were never one to hold your cyanide. Identity can only mean so much when you're pretending to be someone else; your mask is translucent and your words melt like day-old mascara. The toxins in your beauty; an aura to behold. Watch me as these severed pores contract, drooling amnesia and discomfort. He said it best... where's my canvas?
Turn The Tape
Ignite my face. Aflame before I'm given the chance to solidify. Swapping spit with the savages, carry on with your Devil's Dance. I'm hopefully setting my table for two. After my final meal I'll be dreaming in violet, a romance shot down by some emotional glance. Let the trance control you. You'll receive an urgent message tonight. The message will be ignored and you'll go about your life. I swear this time you'll never hear from me again. I can be the one drug that works for you; the kind that invades your veins and works into your brain, bleeding the cells into your fragile spine. A delicate high that you can only obtain if you try hard. They don't care. They never will. I'm the only heroine for your syringe. The powder for your rusty dollar bill. The sweat on your forehead when you're rising above and sucking your own goddamned world dry.
Side note: If anyone is offended by the next one, I apologize to the fullest but I speak as I think.
The Father And The Shunned
Do you joke about this monotony? I can't hear myself think, a point at which I know I should give up. The veil was torn, but the beat not slain. You speak of forgiveness, preach of obedience. I tell of tragedy and the corruption of a species. Preach your gods and icons. I can only hope to shoot them down with unfiltered truth. I am not the savior for this generation; a false prophet sent forth only by my beliefs. Follow nature, the forces created to be felt, not a ghost, not a spirit. Led by what you're told to do, fed by democracy and your stupid ideals. You will never meet him, you will never see him. You can pray until your hands fuse together. You receive nothing. Nothing in the end, for believing in no beginning. The earth was without form. The stars bled life. We evolve, regenerate, and you will die on your knees with your hands folded spitting an agenda that doesn't make sense. It will never make sense. THERE IS NO SENSE. Another wasted page, you can take your trinity and fuck it good.
Yeah, they get better. Keep in mind I was drunk when I wrote half of these.
Robotica Deuce
Stand in front of the machine. The words are dulled; you receive whimsical ideals. "I am a device manufactured to love, to pay and to serve, to fix all of the above." And you believe it, how dare you believe it. We are servants to technology. The robot for the robotic, the machinery to the computer. We are not okay. I'm staring at everything around me, and he talks. "Do you know what you have created? I can talk, corrupt, torture. Sit up and realize that I am more than a tool."
Yeah I'm embarassed that I wrote that but I was wasted and it is a piece of my work, so I figured I'd share it. Someone's gotta like it. I'll work more on it later.
House Arrest Is Best
Chaos!!! Smile at this parade. You call it war, I say it's goddamned lust. You're shouting, you'll wake the inmates. They're armed and dangerous, though apprehended. The laid-back suite you dance to, like a venereal disease, you're destroying yourself. This is war; get your gun and drive on to the gallows. Hang the man. Wipe your hands on your tight new uniform and call it a day. Blue suit. Black eyes.
Officer #1: I've done all I can do. The scene is sore, but you'll be fine, you'll be fine. [He thinks he speaks truth.]
Another Pig: I've done all I can do. The scene is sore, but some things holds more important. [Ain't it the truth, governor?]
Gnash your canines and take a bullet. If not shot down, you've got your own revolvers breathing on your temples. Oh, the spatter. Your veins will crawl back in a half an hour. Your sweet disposition is turning sour... cloudy eyes and a brow littered with heroics. But your electrolytes are on, sir. Turn 'em off and get going. Loaded with rubber bullets and false hope, call us the undermined. Don't you just squeal with pride? If vomit was the elixir, well stop me...
Ten more bloody dispatches. Watch out, he's at large!! You can't charge this crime. I'm red-handed, silver-badged, and green-eyed. Two out of three ain't half fuckin' bad. [9-1-what? Well see if I care.]
Punch More Than Spiked
She was a regular Broadway beauty... but tonight the stagehands went on break. That glazed-over stare, like a true prizefighter, defeating me into submission. That night love was more than a barrier... more of a scythe or something sharper. Counterparts cried a river of shit and I said I'm more than sorry. Always more than grateful, but it never held its own weight. They were there to see the tears retrieved from me, it's over, it's over, let freedom ring.
Kick it in. All is burnt down. Rafters are falling. In that pink gown. It's not a phase. Let it come naturally. You'd better believe I'll never be free.
Note: For the record, I know Roosevelt said the speak softly thing. Leave me alone.
That Ain't James Hart Playing Piano
Hey, you, staring me down with one gaping eye - could it be that you're jealous because I have both of mine? [It's called caring, you bigot, you foam at the mouth and you're useless.] Dear sir, I gained my strength through perseverance. I'm not complaining, I just want you to choke on your tears. [Tears shed due to your own faults? Maybe...]
Sip on a shot of life when yours is through and pick up the pieces. Honest Abe was a liar and speaking softly never got anyone anywhere, never listen to dead men on paper. If I'm wrong, then buy your way out of a gunshot wound. When you're crawling through the Winter streets, I'll forget I have a hand to help you up.
[Now that you're busy, I see you're too big for me. Too good for tradition, you're important, now you're someone. I see you've been fed the wrong way.]
Typical rock star persona. Wipe that scowl off of your face, starlet. Pick a direction to follow. Find a position you can swallow. Who breaks like glass now?
Doctor Duplicity At The Nurse's Ward
The creamatorium is burning with pleasure. Re-enacting every frame of the performance - it's a strong play on words. One day you'll hunger for flesh and the next it's basics for you. Make up your mind, or we'll make it up for you. Someone hit eject so this monster can feel the night sky. A breath of fresh air is too good for you. Your status is blistered like the skin on my eyelids or the surface of a distant lover's heart. The operating room is ablaze. Too many chemicals; too little hydration. I'll be the one to take care of it all. To douse the bedside table with my "under construction." Strike a pose for the cameras, they need the fresh meat to tend to their newly polished mandibles. One of these days, sugar, you'll learn that you can't just dance the night away. Some of us have souls. Those that remain would serve better use laid to the rack for entertainment. The fresh scent of being peeled apart, does it get you off? Work it. Stay tough. Get out there and wow 'em, kid.
Knifepoint, U.S.A.
To my brothers:
Hands appear in the burning wreckage. Pull me from this wasteland. Everyone here in the same, everyone here is dead. Wouldn't it make sense for once to live in beauty? To pull away from all the scenes that ail you, wouldn't that make sense? Have you ever felt like you just don't belong? I shouldn't have to ask. None of us should feel this way. This city is like a dagger. I cover my skin in disbelief, for a lack of comfort and a presence of terror. I can't breathe along with these walls anymore. Leave this town. Leave this place. I'll leave you all behind. You can waste away in this junkyard with all the buildings and people that make you feel deader every day. If it's been said once, you can say it in any language. You can't high-roll when you're a lowlife. Thieves and scum are your neighbors. Contention sneers like an enemy that never should have been. This is all wrong [it wasn't ever right.] The squealing discharge is your sacred gun that goes unnoticed. Every person you meet will turn you down like shit in the corner, you can't get your bearings like that. What's to earn for keeping your mouth shut? Someone join me. I won't back down until I wake up in Hollywood holding the hand of some foreign voice attained in an unfortunate fashion. Some wrong way that feels so goddamned right. Trying so hard to be noticed, but you go about it all wrong. Wake up and smell the dead roses... meet me in L.A. We can change the world.
Michael.
Just Another Ghost Town
The faces are degraded. You know nothing of this travesty. So go on your way... you have nothing here, there is nothing left to see. Just ruins; distant heartbreak that I've already forgotten. But anyway, I still smell the filth on your breath. Sickened by desire, and coping with the molestation presented on my mantelpiece. Run knives like a gristmill for recognition. Sitting in the middle of nowhere has its strong points; for instance, I'm done before I fucking began.
Why Plus Ex
Psychopathogenic. Curt and cruel, the spider in my veins. Tear in, and sip deep. You eat like a pig, lover. So scrape the plates with your credit cards and pray you can buy love. It runs at the highest rates, but it can smash through a floodgate. You're that snake with tempting suggestions... I take the bite. Lure me in on vindictive scales and take what you'd have. Your eyes read digital, I can taste the binary flowing from your fingertips. A sick-sweet foundation meant only for my lips. Your independence has been broken, and you drool on site for more fresh meat. Sink your teeth right into this juicy overabundance. You'll have me scarce by sundown and numb like a firecracker. Pop, boom, and you can call me scatter-brained. This is a heavenly departure. I bite the church curb and swear to a stranger that I'd never get caught. But you can't run away with the chain attached. Forever yours, shoot me down.
Contraband And One-Night Stands
What's new? Nothing new. On these well-trodden fields it will always be the same. What are you waiting for? You have all night to tear me down. For once I wish you wouldn't save your salvation... for once it's needed... for once I'll listen. I can't brave these heights on my own. I now believe that the hand that feeds me can be the one to help me up. A face like yours, a hand like the one I used to hold. That all seems so long ago, so lost and distant. I would give everything I have for an ounce of what you could give me. Could I just have that? Nothing more, but the salt of your tears to fuel me or the red from your lips to block out the color of sadness. Only you can help me scale those heights. I love you and don't forget it, because I never will. What did I do? Where did you go? What are we now? Dead.
Can't Breathe Or Never Wanted To
Your eyes are a prize, a present for the ill of heart. So take my skin and bathe in my fashion, my glamour, my beauty, my fucking compassion. Possession is nine tenths of the law - well you've stolen my heart and the pigs are on the loose. You're a criminal, a dirty crook. Faux pas in the fox's den at a quarter to one with blood in my pen. You were never one to hold your cyanide. Identity can only mean so much when you're pretending to be someone else; your mask is translucent and your words melt like day-old mascara. The toxins in your beauty; an aura to behold. Watch me as these severed pores contract, drooling amnesia and discomfort. He said it best... where's my canvas?
Turn The Tape
Ignite my face. Aflame before I'm given the chance to solidify. Swapping spit with the savages, carry on with your Devil's Dance. I'm hopefully setting my table for two. After my final meal I'll be dreaming in violet, a romance shot down by some emotional glance. Let the trance control you. You'll receive an urgent message tonight. The message will be ignored and you'll go about your life. I swear this time you'll never hear from me again. I can be the one drug that works for you; the kind that invades your veins and works into your brain, bleeding the cells into your fragile spine. A delicate high that you can only obtain if you try hard. They don't care. They never will. I'm the only heroine for your syringe. The powder for your rusty dollar bill. The sweat on your forehead when you're rising above and sucking your own goddamned world dry.
Side note: If anyone is offended by the next one, I apologize to the fullest but I speak as I think.
The Father And The Shunned
Do you joke about this monotony? I can't hear myself think, a point at which I know I should give up. The veil was torn, but the beat not slain. You speak of forgiveness, preach of obedience. I tell of tragedy and the corruption of a species. Preach your gods and icons. I can only hope to shoot them down with unfiltered truth. I am not the savior for this generation; a false prophet sent forth only by my beliefs. Follow nature, the forces created to be felt, not a ghost, not a spirit. Led by what you're told to do, fed by democracy and your stupid ideals. You will never meet him, you will never see him. You can pray until your hands fuse together. You receive nothing. Nothing in the end, for believing in no beginning. The earth was without form. The stars bled life. We evolve, regenerate, and you will die on your knees with your hands folded spitting an agenda that doesn't make sense. It will never make sense. THERE IS NO SENSE. Another wasted page, you can take your trinity and fuck it good.
Yeah, they get better. Keep in mind I was drunk when I wrote half of these.
Robotica Deuce
Stand in front of the machine. The words are dulled; you receive whimsical ideals. "I am a device manufactured to love, to pay and to serve, to fix all of the above." And you believe it, how dare you believe it. We are servants to technology. The robot for the robotic, the machinery to the computer. We are not okay. I'm staring at everything around me, and he talks. "Do you know what you have created? I can talk, corrupt, torture. Sit up and realize that I am more than a tool."
Yeah I'm embarassed that I wrote that but I was wasted and it is a piece of my work, so I figured I'd share it. Someone's gotta like it. I'll work more on it later.
House Arrest Is Best
Chaos!!! Smile at this parade. You call it war, I say it's goddamned lust. You're shouting, you'll wake the inmates. They're armed and dangerous, though apprehended. The laid-back suite you dance to, like a venereal disease, you're destroying yourself. This is war; get your gun and drive on to the gallows. Hang the man. Wipe your hands on your tight new uniform and call it a day. Blue suit. Black eyes.
Officer #1: I've done all I can do. The scene is sore, but you'll be fine, you'll be fine. [He thinks he speaks truth.]
Another Pig: I've done all I can do. The scene is sore, but some things holds more important. [Ain't it the truth, governor?]
Gnash your canines and take a bullet. If not shot down, you've got your own revolvers breathing on your temples. Oh, the spatter. Your veins will crawl back in a half an hour. Your sweet disposition is turning sour... cloudy eyes and a brow littered with heroics. But your electrolytes are on, sir. Turn 'em off and get going. Loaded with rubber bullets and false hope, call us the undermined. Don't you just squeal with pride? If vomit was the elixir, well stop me...
Ten more bloody dispatches. Watch out, he's at large!! You can't charge this crime. I'm red-handed, silver-badged, and green-eyed. Two out of three ain't half fuckin' bad. [9-1-what? Well see if I care.]
Punch More Than Spiked
She was a regular Broadway beauty... but tonight the stagehands went on break. That glazed-over stare, like a true prizefighter, defeating me into submission. That night love was more than a barrier... more of a scythe or something sharper. Counterparts cried a river of shit and I said I'm more than sorry. Always more than grateful, but it never held its own weight. They were there to see the tears retrieved from me, it's over, it's over, let freedom ring.
Kick it in. All is burnt down. Rafters are falling. In that pink gown. It's not a phase. Let it come naturally. You'd better believe I'll never be free.
Note: For the record, I know Roosevelt said the speak softly thing. Leave me alone.
That Ain't James Hart Playing Piano
Hey, you, staring me down with one gaping eye - could it be that you're jealous because I have both of mine? [It's called caring, you bigot, you foam at the mouth and you're useless.] Dear sir, I gained my strength through perseverance. I'm not complaining, I just want you to choke on your tears. [Tears shed due to your own faults? Maybe...]
Sip on a shot of life when yours is through and pick up the pieces. Honest Abe was a liar and speaking softly never got anyone anywhere, never listen to dead men on paper. If I'm wrong, then buy your way out of a gunshot wound. When you're crawling through the Winter streets, I'll forget I have a hand to help you up.
[Now that you're busy, I see you're too big for me. Too good for tradition, you're important, now you're someone. I see you've been fed the wrong way.]
Typical rock star persona. Wipe that scowl off of your face, starlet. Pick a direction to follow. Find a position you can swallow. Who breaks like glass now?
Doctor Duplicity At The Nurse's Ward
The creamatorium is burning with pleasure. Re-enacting every frame of the performance - it's a strong play on words. One day you'll hunger for flesh and the next it's basics for you. Make up your mind, or we'll make it up for you. Someone hit eject so this monster can feel the night sky. A breath of fresh air is too good for you. Your status is blistered like the skin on my eyelids or the surface of a distant lover's heart. The operating room is ablaze. Too many chemicals; too little hydration. I'll be the one to take care of it all. To douse the bedside table with my "under construction." Strike a pose for the cameras, they need the fresh meat to tend to their newly polished mandibles. One of these days, sugar, you'll learn that you can't just dance the night away. Some of us have souls. Those that remain would serve better use laid to the rack for entertainment. The fresh scent of being peeled apart, does it get you off? Work it. Stay tough. Get out there and wow 'em, kid.
Knifepoint, U.S.A.
To my brothers:
Hands appear in the burning wreckage. Pull me from this wasteland. Everyone here in the same, everyone here is dead. Wouldn't it make sense for once to live in beauty? To pull away from all the scenes that ail you, wouldn't that make sense? Have you ever felt like you just don't belong? I shouldn't have to ask. None of us should feel this way. This city is like a dagger. I cover my skin in disbelief, for a lack of comfort and a presence of terror. I can't breathe along with these walls anymore. Leave this town. Leave this place. I'll leave you all behind. You can waste away in this junkyard with all the buildings and people that make you feel deader every day. If it's been said once, you can say it in any language. You can't high-roll when you're a lowlife. Thieves and scum are your neighbors. Contention sneers like an enemy that never should have been. This is all wrong [it wasn't ever right.] The squealing discharge is your sacred gun that goes unnoticed. Every person you meet will turn you down like shit in the corner, you can't get your bearings like that. What's to earn for keeping your mouth shut? Someone join me. I won't back down until I wake up in Hollywood holding the hand of some foreign voice attained in an unfortunate fashion. Some wrong way that feels so goddamned right. Trying so hard to be noticed, but you go about it all wrong. Wake up and smell the dead roses... meet me in L.A. We can change the world.
Michael.