A Warning About a Blighted Well

The shadows see and the eyes they bleed the bones do creak and wait for the weak. They stand behind the backs of those the eyes that bleed do watch with intent while the shadows dance to tempt and distract until the claws snatch and drag the hopeless to the bleeding maw within the dark that well of bodies that hold no soul, no sorrow within that well is known for the shadows devoured it all. Their smiles masks for the skeletons, their joy a macabre dance of blood and bones and eyes that stare and seek. Waiting for the sorrow of the poor and pitiful weak, so my advice to you and these darkened nights don’t go by that well of shadows alone for solitude in grief for you’ll find your respite in the bottom of that blighted well quite brief, with only cruel shadows and hungry bones to which to speak.

Bleeding eyes watch me die and breath me last until they grasp my soul in shadow’s home and drag me through the ground to that darkened bleeding throne they grab and dig and steal my sorrow until nothing of grief is left nothing of sorrow nothing of pain the bleeding stopped and I live again to restart the night where it all began. Where bleeding eyes do watch me die and breath my last until they grasp my soul in shadow’s home and drag me through to that darkened and bleeding throne they grab and dig and steal my sorrow until of grief is left nothing of sorrow nothing of pain the bleeding stopped and i live again to restart the night it all began where bleeding eyes do watch me die and breath my last until they grasp my soul in shadow’s home….

Past Death’s End

A moment of silence for the fallen, the forgotten and the friend, who stand in that final hour that place past death’s end.

A tear I shed for each foe felled, two for each friend lost, and I weep realizing this is life’s burden, our one and only true cost. A moment spent in memory, remembering all who gave their lives, those fallen, not forgotten, friend and foe alike, who stand in that silent light, that place found only after casting off the burden of life.

Remember those who went quietly into that peaceful night, and for those who went fighting, clinging to the thunder and the light, a tear I shed for all, friend and foe alike, for all that live gave their all, their self in sacrifice.

They bear no burden for this, the pain is ours, the living, and it tears me apart at times. There is days, and night, where I feel barely alive at all, and the tears seem to do nothing but fall, and I can’t help but weep like a child at the horror, the burden and pain of it all.

The cost at times is too great, too steep a price to pay, to give one to that final hour, it’s more than any of us should have to bear, and yet we do but we it not gladly, not with smiles or joy, but with our blood and tears we pay and pay again until our hearts are withered, and our joy is fled.

So, let us now, remember those fallen, the forgotten and the friends, who stand in that final hour past death’s end, let us cry our tears and purge our sorrow, until once more it becomes to much to bare, let us remember the smiles given and the joy shared.

In sorrow I remember joy, in respect, I remember honor, I give to these fallen both, and I shall remember, their life, their actions and their names, for my life was shared with theirs, and in my pain if there is one thing I know for true, it’s that I cared.

If they standing and among us now I wish I could say it so they could hear, but past this life there is no sound, no way for word to travel, and while these word’s bare pain, their meaning remains cold and hollow, hollowed and hallowed by pain and misery, these words are all I can offer for those that have fallen before me.

Farewell dear friends, farewell, and safe travels, may you find peace, may you find something better then the strife allotted to the living, for I know without you in it, the world has grown colder, the nights darker and all my laughter rings less true then it did when you were here.

For The Smile of My Muse

I’m just a dreamer, living the lie, I know its not right but god damn it I deserve it, it’s my time.

They call it pointless, they say I’ll never make it through, I’ll show em all, every one that calls it a dream, I’ll show them I’ll make it real, make it true.

It’s not just a dream, its a calling, an art, not just words on a page its a matter of soul, sharing of hearts.

I’m not just a dreamer living the lie, I know its right, god damn it, I’ll get what I deserve, I’ll make it my time.

I don’t want lights in the skies, or praises for my name, I don’t want riches, or simple material gain. I want my muse to be proud, to hear that smile in her voice, I want her to say to me, when it’s all done and gone.

I’m glad it was you, you were the right one, the perfect choice. You weren’t just a dreamer, it was never a lie, and it was right..

I knew it was your time.


I can’t think for all the silence yet can’t talk for all the shouting, this constant echo ends with only myself that is doubting. Rounding the corners of the mortal coil it doubts my own existence, unable to shake the apathy it breeds with a rather cursed persistence.
It scratches it gouges it wounds my very mind, causing the coils of thought and sanity to become disturbed, unwind. I feel myself unmade, i see myself undone, and I have to wonder in the first place, when this even begun. When did I exist? Was it ever real? The doubt inside spirals away, disbelief shadows everything, all that I see and feel.

Don’t Call it Survival

Don’t call it survival

That’s not what I aim for, that’s not for what I wish

I want a revival, I want something more, I want the lights and the bells and all the whistles, I want the glitter, and the glisten and I want all of you to lend your ears to listen.

Don’t call it survival, that’s not what I aim for, it’s not for what I wish

Survival is empty, a thing of meeting needs, never wants, and it never ends and never gets better, it only gets worse. There is no dreams, no lights, no bells but the funeral bell that tolls, at the end that is forever and always foretold and known.

No, what I want is not survival, I want a life, a meaning, something more then an endless meeting of needs, of simply surviving, never truly doing, not striving.

Don’t call it survival, it’s not all that we should aim for, aim higher, and see the light, don’t call it survival.

It’s so much more than that, so don’t call it survival, don’t aim so low, remember your dreams, those stories you told that you would one day be, and look around, look at your now, and ask yourself, did I ever live? Did I try to strive to thrive?

Or did I simply try to survive?