You know it ain’t right,
standing on top our your life,
looking down on yourself
and everyone else.
Living on borrowed time
and sacred promises,
that all that’s left is
what you can eat, burn and fuck.
Ignoring all the signs
that you’ve sold your soul,
as that need to feed
consumes you whole.
The living death becomes you,
oh, so pretty, my friend!
It’s wrong, but you can’t stop;
you’re already dead.
Inside you hold nothing Holy.
Yourself, the one and only,
so why are you
so worth holding on to?
Why isn’t it OK to lose your mind,
when losing your soul’s
how everyone gets by?
Awake in final hours
cower from light
that isn’t ours.
It seems today
it pays to stray
from your heart
into decay
and I just may
have gone and done the same.
Sold it all for bitter nature,
tried to fix the perfect picture,
but nothing we do seems to stay;
it seems that someone’s made a better way.
Rebuke – Demons with prayer.
If you don’t believe they’re still there.
They use everyone just the same.
You know them – their weapon is shame.
HG – 2000-2005
Wow, I’m awestruck by the line “Why isn’t it OK to lose your mind, when losing your soul’s how everyone gets by?” Deep truth.
Yeah, I like that one, too. I’m like “Where do I get this stuff?” and then I figure, I probably stole if from somewhere, but everything’s stolen in writing, so it’s ok.
Haha, I think that on occasion of my writing as well. Nice to know it isn’t just me who gets that “wow, where ‘d I get that from” feeling.
Read your conclusion post and since I’m here I’ll drop the comment now rather than switch back — congrats on making your way out.
Thank you for reasing my work and providing such great feedback. I really appreciate it.
I don’t think you ever get all the way out. See my poem “The Thing About Nightmares…”, it explains that idea further.
Oh, no need to explain, I get it. Hence my blog(s) as a release for my own demons. Thankfully there’s poetry as a release valve!
Ugh, spelling errors drive me nuts, but they’re so common when using a smartphone. Write. Think. Post. Haha!