Volcanic

Don’t you ever get tired of her yanking your chain?

Why don’t you leave her if she’s causing you pain?

I don’t mean to critisize your decision making skills,

But I was unaware that you liked people who liked frills.

And this superficial bitch with a pretentious attitude

Who really ought to learn a thing or two about gratitude

But my bitter thoughts should be cut off soon

Before I myself, turn into the buffoon.

They’re the demons that roam in the night,

The fingers that snuff out the candlelight.

Coaxing the others with their sweet tasting honey,

While they’re the ones indulging in profit and money.

Let the truth ring through the mountains

And their blood spill into the fountains

The woman who vows to never learn to sew

Rips her blouse, and turns into the show.

The woman who refuses to wear skirts and dresses

Tries to meet boys but never impresses.

The woman who sews with her eyes closed

Died with this useless skill disposed

The woman who swears by tight dresses and skirts

Attracts the wrong kind of men, always perverts

If there’s a lesson that should be learned in all of this

No matter who you are, there’s no such thing as bliss

Christmas in LA, were all wearing shorts

Out in the field, playing all- american sports

Too hot for hot choco, just right for an iced frapp

With our big, ritzy presents, ready to unwrap

So cheers to the holidays, but mostly the celebration

Christmas in LA never felt like such a salvation

What’s control? Where’s it hidden?

Out of reach, surely forbidden.

Holding on to everything I got,

Control is a complex knot.

And my weak fingers keep slipping,

While my lazy legs keep tripping.

So now you say I’ve lost control?

It never existed in this hole.

It’s the stag that runs in the night

The one who quickly takes flight

With horns reaching to the sky

Its dead companion rests nearby

Aware of the hunter, he races

Into the forest he embraces

Gone, he simply vanished

More likely he was banished

By the ruthless hunter with his arms

He hunts, scares and harms

My lungs fill with sand

I can see no land

Each grain, a snag

I wave my white flag

And fall to the sea

What has become of me?

Caught under your sharp fangs

Smell of blood still hangs

Eyes as pale as the first snowfall

Of the grand mountains of Nepal

No one will hear my cries

Everything eventually dies

Blood flows from my head

I paint the snow red

I’m probably dead

On and on I tread

No it’s not perfect, it’s not even good

Always knew it from the start.

If I could change, I certainly would

Thinking about it, I fall apart.

So many rough drafts, barely any pieces.

I can’t organize my thoughts,

This once creative flow now ceases.

Too many blank spots.

Seems now is the perfect time

To rewrite our grim fate

No doubt, it’ll be a rough climb

Carrying undeniable weight

The change in my pocket, seems it’s not enough

And I can’t come up with a decent bluff

This situation is obviously not desired

Because I’m weak, sore and tired

I’m decided now, to just give up 

And take a bite from the death cup

Norwegian wolf, I hold you so near

Although you prey, on innocent deer.

I forgive your trials and mistakes,

Even if my body still shivers and aches.

I’ll spend eternity here in the snow.

Sleep forever in my sorrow and woe.

You dreamt I was an angel resting upon the clouds. As innocent and beautiful as a Botticelli angel. You said I was bashful, dressed in white linen.

You wrote to meet you in the broken, ancient library. Arriving on time, I was surrounded by the paintings and books collecting dust. And in an instant I was surrounded by your presence, your strong smell of English aftershave.

Frozen, I became a statue and you became the sculptor as you ravished me.

Consumed with strife

Abandoned all life

Forget humanity

It’s just insanity

In which I cry

My hope will die

In where I rest

I’m surely blessed