This frustration; Ventilation through veins which I feel pain.

Her temptation; inhalation of thoughts that seem insane.

Deprivation; These sensations that I cannot ignore.

Been down this road too many times || Still I. .|| Try to explore.

Her mind; So divine. Can I be more than a thought.

Too distraught; I think naught. Steal my love, but don’t get caught.



Raining down from the heavens; my words. .  they mean to heal.

Does that mean we are all broken?




I’ve been misused by hands colder than I . . . The abuse comes and it goes.

They’ve thrown away my hopes and dream and replaced them all of my woes.

Their grip tightens around my neck. . . .eyes burn bright with resolve. .

The reflection in them paints a picture. .the saddest picture of all.

There lies a man who still believes. . .he has a reason to ‘Be’.

Truth be told, his soul was sold. . .searching for love, you see?

All he found, were the hands that bound. . . and now. .

He’ll never be free.



No Name. 3

I stay high as a kite . . .I like to reach for the stars.

Was told my love wasn’t ‘right’: I said: “add that to my scars.”

I stay suspended in fear; Thoughts of living the reason.

Words can only compare. .to things I’ve truly been feeling.

Can’t seem to do anything. . . .all I do is fail.

Can’t seem make the jump; As I stand upon the rail.

I try to make love, but all I see is hate.

Thought I could make a different, but, I guess that I’m too late.


For too long I’ve been running away from thoughts of being happy.

I wonder when I began to hate myself so much.

I deny myself the greater things in life that keep me in touch.

With those who surround me and lift me up to feel content.

Meanwhile all I crave is for a cold blade to get bent. ..

into the hearts of those I love.

I’m selfish until I feel selfless enough to give you my pain.

Eyes wander deep as thoughts questions the brain.

I’m not crazy. I’m not reckless. I’m not insane. I just refuse to let society tame the beast that feasts

on the innocence of those deemed lucky.

Wondering why now all of a sudden . . .the world wants to fuck me. .

then tuck me. .in the bed I made for the enemies of tomorrow.

While yesterday just. .wants to stay in my darkened hollow.




Writers Block

Can’t seem to find the words to describe what it is I lack.

Looking for what motivates to pick up on my slack.

Feeling drained of my artistic adrenaline rush. World’s greatest canvas; but dry remains the brush.

Used to be told to “Hush” these thoughts of suicide that never seem to die. Walking unaffected with baggage that make others want to cry.

I know the truth yet for some reason I can’t stop this lie…I tell myself in the mirror.

“It’s not your fault. You are the monster your peers created.”

If that’s true then why must I stay heavily sedated.

Why not go all out on the world. Why not add to the darkness and turmoil?

Because I created myself.

If I told you I didn’t like being evil don’t believe me. If you see me helping others PLEASE don’t percieve me; to be a good guy or die by my hands.

I got a date with the devil so no, we can not make “plans.” Fuck people who do things like this for their “Fans”. I do this shit cause I hurt inside. I  walked all the way to hell because heaven doesn’t give rides. Can’t seem to rid myself of this foolish pride, but could care less if you chose to confide. .

. .in me…


Late night knock

Hello’s been a while.

Not since we’ve talked; but since I’ve cracked a smile.

Things are smoothing.

I should be happy right?

Can’t find the words or pictures all in spite. .of being an artist who is usually out of sight.

Hopefully you can help me understand feelings that go misunderstood.

Whether you view me as an equal or a youth from the hood.

How do I know when my goals have been accomplished. How can I attain peace in a world that is surely rotten.

Can I. . .knock on your door in the middle of the night. .

Would you open the door and ask “Are you alright?”

And if I said “No. . This world I can no longer fight.”

Or would you. .pull  the trigger so i can see the tunnel’s light.

Tresspassing was the crime. But the real crime is nobody has the time to see past the rhymes. Perception heals.
















Ol’ No name

Sleeping. Dreaming. Screaming.
Thoughts run wild right out of my mind.

Teasing. Pleasing. Reasons.
Divine flower of my hour Can I. .

Climb your highest tower
Cascading showers of my

sweat blood and tears all dry
in the presence of your darkest fears.

Sleeping. Screaming. Dreaming
of a world that is much better than this.

Screaming. Dreaming. Sleeping.
In the eternally darkened  abyss.