Self-Destructive

They took me away
They took me downtown
They beat out my senses
Glad I can't hear this sound
The sound I imagine
Grotesque and demented
Merciless soldiers
Strike down the tormented
With purpose unfounded
And reasons unexplained
Blood on their hands
Their sender unnamed
They kick and they stomp
They turn out my pockets
My arms and my legs
Pulled out of their sockets
Broken and belittled 
Immobilized and stunned
I am left with an answer
But of sense it makes none

"You ask why we beat you
Why we tear at your limbs
Destroy all that you value
Subjected to a whim
From who were we sent
You seem not to be aware
But the answer to this question
We shouldn't have to share
This act may not be justified 
Or fair in any way
But it's what was asked of us
Just the other day."

"For now we are finished
We completed what we came to do
But, I will answer your question
We were sent by you."

Something I Wrote

The eskimo
Took a low blow
To the solar plexus

Regrettable affairs
And disgruntled exes
Tortured morale
And welcoming tombs
Wait to taste my bleeding wounds

This igloo is cold
I'm freezing to death
But for an apology
I have saved my last breath

In this frozen land
My heart rests on ice
Cold and slow beating
Shredded and spliced

I wait for the warmth
Though I know it will melt me away
I really should leave..
But you might come back?
So I think I will stay

This is not a plea
It is simply a note
Not a cry for help
Just something I wrote

Novelty & Nostalgia

An impassioned reply 
To my inadequacies 
You spill to the floor
With wasted intensity

Falling apart
From monumental heights
When we hit the ground 
Will I still be your white knight?

Perfection 
Is what we seemed to be
But corrections were needed 
To remain a we

Forget-Me-Nots
Sent to your door
But I guess you won't understand
What I sent them for
We weren't always falling stars
No, not at all
Don't you remember?
Don't you recall?
We used to be better
We used to be great 
Now I'm left with Novelty & Nostalgia
And you with hate

The Young Die Hopeful

The romantics of this life
Are of the juvenile kind
The young and naive
With unexperienced minds
Hopefully and Blissfully
Unprepared
Not yet exposed to wear & tear

With rose colored outlooks
They stare at the world
With freeze frames and outtakes
Their innocence twirls
Around and around
These invincible children
Spin in the carousel
With the falling ceiling
Crushed and crumpled
Their bodies become
But with outlooks still bright
As the new morning sun