Try-Your-Page

Here come the snares, wrenching at my heart; like my tongue can’t find the words to say. I've been resurrecting your skeletons, just to place broken flesh over it and watch it all decay… …scratching at freshly picked scars and rose petals, while digging up old habits and hatchets; just so I can whistle a tune so tragic.Here comes the wind, stomping at my lungs; like my emotions are gasping to be released. I've been coughing up your cover-ups, just to place my index finger over it and watch it all cease… …living in this darkness, sulfur-tipped match tossed in the breeze, while thinking it’s just not worth the candle; just so I can hum a son...

Six feet under lies another darkness unsealed.Pulled that dirt off and every nail out of the casket.Yet my body is still a carnation for this invasive field.Struggling to be a soldier, though I’m just another causality,Of friendly fire, but these emotions leave me feeling like an amputee.Deep within this garden-variety heart,Drown into two raindrops before we touch ground. “Till death do us part.” And this is not subliminal message,I’m just trying to work through these hems and haws.Felt like we jumped the broom and now we’re standing,Too far to clutch the straws.As certain as I said, that you’ll hear my every word.I know I’ll be waking up...

One hand on a can of worms Like crawling through a body. Another on a lit cigarette butt Like thoughts creeping through a mind. Creating papier-mâché pigeons, With that whooping cough. So they can never touch the sky Without a quill and a scratch-off. The enthusiast sticks are smoking boulders, Handing out pamphlets on fire shortages near the campfire smolder With no heads on shoulders, just a stomach full of hooks, Diabetic retinopathy, bottom feeding until bloated. Christmas time come, candy cane run, still sugar coated. I guess you can’t reinvent the wheel, when the spokes are crooked, Like the face I drew on the hangman Under every bri...

My name is Artorias. I am one of the knights of Lord Gwyn. But unlike my comrades, I still don't have a title. “How are you doing this morning, Artorias?” The deep voice of Hawkeye Gough echoed in the hallway to Lord Gwyn's halls. “I'm doing fine, my brother. I didn't have a good sleep, though.” Talking to the Giant was never an easy thing to do, for I had to scream most of the time, to reach him. “You have no need to scream, brother!” His laughter resonated throughout the palace. “You always forget that my hearing is still good.” I always felt like an ant by his side. The thirty-two feet tall giant was a sight in itself, but with his armo...

Before I walk through those glass doors, I rub my hands across my scruffy face, Run my fingers through my tangled hair, Place my dark-tinted sunglasses over my eyes. All this pressure and preparation of trying to hide myself from being noticed. Sit among all these strangers that I repeatedly see each time I visit. Hear my name called, walk back, and sit on her couch as she begins her interview. I feel like I should be on the cover of a magazine with all this attention I get. I hate feeling like a celebrity in my therapist’s office.

I want to steal your sunshine, and place it in the hands of my pocket watch. Leave you waiting for the blast from the nuclear winter.I want to pull the moon down, and load it in the barrel of my revolver. Leave you waiting for the splash from the tidal wave.I want to take your last breath, and pack it in the bowl of my smoke pipe. Leave you waiting for the burst from the ozone window.

I’m alone inside this motel room That looks like the cremation of the remains Of a feeling once so alive but now locked inside this tomb I’m staring at an overfilled ashtray Playing hop scotch down along an empty valley That walks circles around me like a shadow of vultures Waiting for a fresh kill to decay Give hate a bouquet for the love I've felt Act as a centerpiece of emotion under a flame and watch it melt And maybe I shouldn't have knocked that devil straight down on his knees As he was sitting on my shoulder trying to say to me “This is no more than cloak and dagger, it’ll bring nothing but tears.” I guess my only excuse really doe...

If I were a road, You’d be a traveler With a broken transmission, slashed tires And a light that reads empty.If I were a wreck, You’d be a passenger With a broken windshield, bruised neck And a face that reads empty.If I were death, You’d be a victim With embalming fluid, fresh makeup And a body that reads empty.