This air of silence,
Breathes through the sullen mist.
Transparent winds,
Ease these age-old wounds.

As stale thoughts disappear,
Through Morpheus pathways.
I am in wake but dreaming.

This warmth annuls,
As time drew slowly upon this wretch of life.

Weary sighs of condolence never did urge with zest,
The fire within hands made to rest.

Swallow me within sin,
This blood flows free through my veins.
Procure my will through lascivious rite.

Delving subliminal realms,
As lust invites me to stay,
Engulfed within flesh.

Casting gaze at the puppets,
Acting out their play.
Their slightly wooden frames,
Stretched and splintered by their masters.

Crawling beneath their minds' eye.

Those whom follow, reflect,
And do not become.

Not to be...Not to be...

Their words waste my time here,
With their fragrantless tones.
A veil to distract those whom wouldst live.

To create,
Not to serve.

I walk amongst the shadows of the dead,
Thoughts bleeding into the ether.

Into endless night.

I have not seen myself for ages.
This empty shell cares no longer for life.
Slowly replacing the flesh with steel,
So that I may carry on...
Unfettered by this mortality.

The air no longer carries favour,
The water that passes these lips
Keeps only this mortal shell alive.

For hope has been not here,
Nor raised in it's form.

And all is lost again.
Eradicate the shadows, That dements these thoughts.
And if I were to enter slumber?
Only sleep, guarded by a sense I may never wake,
Slipping into narcoleptic state.

Seas of tormented bliss,
Ebb away from these barren shores.

Nothing remains.

Only pieces of this intimate jigsaw

...And 'tis upon me again.

The clock ticks on
And still I remain.
Death wrenched upon my eyes,
To the birth of a second sight.

Visions surround,
The haze of my labyrinth,
Angles of dimensions unreal, unseen.

Blood, in the deep of my eyes,
Fires within the mountain.

'Tis within my grasp.
The point that will shall eventually reach,
And shall have no return.

'Tis but a fucking grey day for me now.
One that I care not to meet.

Wherefore is this grey fucking day,
That I should sit in here now?
Now of all times,
For all times have been now,
Until they became then.

And it grates upon these very nerves,
That move my body amongst the living.
As they seethe,
Shaking their anger throughout my bones... as if to escape...

Such a need to explode.
For this time ticks slowly,
Through this, the greyest of all days.
Waiting for now to become then.

And it tears me apart,
But I cannot escape this terrible pain.
Ripping, devouring the bones within my flesh.
Draining my life's blood.

And wherefore is this fucking grey day,
That I should sit in here again?

And what?
What fucking tale to tell now?
Of tears uncried?

Only the sweat of writhing agony.

The eyes shed no tears...
For a mind gone insane...