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The words spill out like moths.
And I can hardly breathe.
I choke upon the wings.
Of all the dead recieved.

Beelzebub, the fool.
His eyes were calling out.
He spoke the softest poem.

And carefully he held to the candlelight the things you made me do.
Paled in comparison the things I'd do to you.
Mothers say much is fair, but lovers aren't so sure.
The silver lining left far too ruptured.

Held to the candlelight a thousand scars to bare.
Paled in comparison façades you made me wear.
Ages in agony I sit collecting dust.
Where there's no way to shine, and guilt is all I trust.

Tortured and sickening, I sicken those who know.
No sense in quickening a life meant to end slow.
So i'll just say goodnight and try to go to sleep.
You'll never notice me, not even as I weep.

A thousand painted masks.
A thousand ways to lie.
A thousand wingless worms.
All wriggling inside.


from Hurt Not the Oil and the Wine, released October 31, 2006




The Ugly Facade

We live our lives in boxes, with little glowing screens. We fill our blood with toxins, so we can deal with things. And sometimes, more than often, the bitter masks the taste. The fruitless failed reflection: what if it's all a waste?

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