My Worst Enemy

I shudder and shake, my skin is no home

My body is no shrine

Unless you count it as defiled, this despairing temple of mine.

Cracking foundations and crumbling walls

Haunted hallways hide nothing at all

My words echo throughout this failing facade

My form does crack as the laughter moves on

No, my skin is no home and my mind is not safe

Not when it’s my words, my own thoughts

That so haunt me when I’m awake

My own voice does mock, my own fist does pain

No, my body is no temple, for it’s been defiled, degraded

And it was my own self that did cause this fate.


And yet they cry

They talk that chatter, they’re all a twitter

With no chatter without laughter it me that is the joke

Me they mock, make of fun, and deride

Yet behind the laughter I hear their darkness

The sobs and scars they hide

All are harmed, none are safe

Even the laughing voices behind my eyes

The voices that deride, and tear me down

Even as I cry inside.


A pitiful pittance, a poor little portion,

Doubly damned and definitely doubting,

Faltering, floundering, assuredly a failure.

Damned and doubting and defiantly deplorable,

Just drowning in despair.

Please help me I’m drowning I cry and none can hear

I’m faltering and failing, falling ever faster

Drowning in the open air.

Muse At Play Pt 2

Oh it rants and rails its wants and needs but its persistence leaves me quite unfazed.

In part, perhaps not totally for this rhyming is the symptom and the mark, the current mood the cause,

But I’ll persist and continue despite this moment of disarray, though it certainly has caused a bit of dismay.

I worry not and soldier on, despite my muse deciding to take this moment to play.

Muse At Play 1

I’m saying I feel strange and in disarray, disjointed and disappointed,

In me and my seeming to the point that my perception of of my imperfections is insisting

upon an insurrection upon the tyrant of this established existence so that my fleeting

moment might fade and falter and fastly degrade, disappear, as if I were but a dream, a

made up seeming, something that was never really there at all.

Odd (No real name for this, its kinda dark tho)

Detached and deranged and oh so strange they did so think they were not real.

So climbing a tower they thought to peel they did a dance and thought to glance upon the high noon moon and fall upon the sun.

However,  all they did was fall upon the asphalt.

With a splatter, with a splash, to quick they proved a lack of thought,

But an overindulgence of courage and some real guts.