Brewing Darkness

It's so good to know...
It's so nice to know...
Everything can be so perfected
in your syncopated
little mad world.


Every last piece of my soul wasted
dragged across this broken glass,
that are your nails,
every drop of blood
swallowed by these little pores
is something else
I would miss if I could feel.

I don't have the strength to vomit
but God I wish I could.
Wretch out every last emotion
every last piece of me
and just show
you how fucking
complicated I am.
I'll never be something you dissect,
some neat little project worth seeing.

I am.
That is it.
I am.
All I'm going to be.
This perfect mess.
This failure of complicated ends.
The beginning of nothing
but this final end.

Screams syncopate
into madness.
Blood collects where I have crawled.
This breath burns my lungs
because it's not longer air
it is just masked pretension
that is nothing more than the best interests
of better intentions
wrapped in whatever it is you use to sleep at night.

Every second we spend in this wasteland makes us worse.
We bite into each other,
rip out soul out...all for what?
To be a game for specters that we can never see.
But you don't see.
You do not see them egg you on,
see their delight at the blood letting orgy.
You don't see their yellow eyes gleam
in dying twilight as they set their eyes
on ripping our your throat
just as soon as you have finished feeding on me.

So what is it?
What is this?
We are just going to eat and dine on the others flesh.
Drink the blood with the wine?
Eat the flesh with the bread?
This juxtaposition of a poorly raised metaphor
that never should have seen life.
Because the dark is eating the light.
Every last momentous pain.
These demons smile.
Because they see what you can't see.
They rejoice in the pain.


But God,
if my soul was any darker
you would be cut by its shade.
You would feel the hate brewing inside
and would die from the heat.
But instead,
I'm judged for me being me.
I never said I was anything less
But here I am just being me.
And that is a crime, even if you don't think it.
Or say it.
Me being me was never enough.
It cannot be enough.
With insufficiency.

But God I try,
oh will I try.