Burning (All is Flame)

I slam my head against the wall that I built before my fall I can’t stop this burning.

This flame inside my mind, that tells me I am nothing, that all I am is dust and envy with nothing to show and nothing to gain.

Still, I slam my head into this wall and bleed and bleed with nothing to show for it but pain and rage.

And yet, I still exist, I still reside, in this empty life with this empty smile of mine.

Burning, burning, burning, I can’t seem to stop this incessant yearning.

Fingers moving across the letters, fingers moving and dripping red blood.

The ink drained from my soul, writing out my life and letting go the flood.

I empty myself out, pour it onto the page and all I ever get is filled with more and more rage.

I exist and I bleed and I cut with these words, cutting out the blood to silence the scream I need to release more and more.

This endless rage, this endless seething, leaking blood red fury in a sea of green envy.

Too foolish to admit, to kind to blame, all I am is alone, and everything is bright red flames.

 

Awkward and Odd – Lines

I’m an awkward person, with an odd sort of mind.

From time to time, I’ll cross a line.

I don’t mean to offend, the intent to harm isn’t mine.

I’m an awkward person, with an odd sort of mind.

I’ll talk out of turn, or say something forward. Still…

I don’t mean to offend, the thought to harm or alarm is not what’s on my mind.

It’s awkward and strange and an odd sort of place, that place behind my eyes.

I’ll step across that line, I’ll offend from time to time.

Without intent, I dare say that no harm was meant, no cause for alarm was offered though it was taken all the same.

I’m an odd sort of person, with an awkward frame of mind, I might step across the line, but I didn’t see it there, with my gaze up in the air.

Consider this an apology if you must, a way of saying sorry for a skewed perception of me, for I can’t say I consider myself mean.

As an awkward person with an odd frame of mind, I can’t be blamed for miscommunication, for lack of conversation that would otherwise show me, tell me when to draw back as I’m about to cross that line, your mind isn’t mine, how would I know to pull back when it was you who drew the line?

You who decided where to take offense and where to make a friend? With no intent to harm I offered my words freely, you took them as knives to wound you dearly and silenced the words completely.

Takes this as you will, but despite my crossing your line, for which I did apologize.

In ignoring me, you have crossed one of mine.

I Am No Saint

I am no saint, I know my taint, my rage and anger so

No sorrow here, no tears do I know

I have tried and found I can not cry, I can not shed a single tear out of sadness or the dread of fear

No, all I know is the tide of anger, that endless rage that marches ever forward, flowing ever towards

Inexorable and unending, never stopping never starting simply being from the beginning

Born with red in my eyes and blood on my hands, dark thoughts spawned by wishing of dark deeds

My anger, my rage, it wishes to feed

Unending, unchanging, the rage is like a tide

Sorry my dear but it never goes out but only comes in

High tide getting higher, the rage growing deeper

The high ground of calm getting ever steeper

I feel naught else it seems, no joy, no sorrow

Just enough rage that I’ve more than enough to let the others borrow

So taste of the wine, taste of this madness of mine, enjoy the rage, enjoy the drink

Let this blood bring you to the furthest brink, till the shore does darken and you feel like you’re out at sea

With nothing but the dark waters and stars to keep you company

Watch that blood red water cover you over, drag you deep

Feel it crush your bones and squeeze your lungs

Know that you are for the Rage to keep

Let this happen, go out to that sea

And then, and then you’ll know what it’s like

What is like to be me

I am no saint, no no saint at all

I’ve enough rage, enough taint to make everyone, to make us all do nothing

Nothing but fall