There is an hellish torment
that plagues the prayers resting
ever so tender for the Dead
under the careful watch, praise be the Yellow King
steadfast, undivided moarning state, goes to be seen
one can fasten his belt whenever causation appraises doubt
and wins, believe us, proves itself to propose Salvation
for I am the Sea, the Ocean and my worse enemy

Rage inflates, as desire is expected to be
chances that were never taken, feel them
crawl like ants, up your sleeve, whenever it rains
Free to rampage unchecked, welcomed even
Known not for want or lack thereof

Space, harden tempered forged Will
To be broken still by savoury experiences
One that fell to his knees, rather than abandon
knows now serenity, won is therefore the war
From yet not decided, future unchecked
It so happens my hands mold it everyday.

I am been meaning to tell you
I have been meaning to let you go
Guess I feel my words went just this far
And once I forget you I too will vanish
Alongside my bleeding pride and resentments
Oh well, all is well, no need to fight
Anymore. 

Damage sourced below the skin
Blood pool, drip by-a-bye swollen, well fed
erupt, immersive as it ticks, thicken what made the heart stop
neurotic, blue lips no longer moist
human shelf, are books memories or fragments of people's self-worth
ruined, let it transpire further upon these alleyways
either dry or refine, anyday, dumped on a site
under foundation, bedsheets of morta. perish the thought!
should you too cease to exist. or seige the right.
under the star gaze, on the eve of someone.

and so down we go.
where do I stand?
who can gauge my options?
Amid this fanatics,
trilled to shed the weight, off;
their past mistakes.
a stare down, run me down
Ironic them, how without fault
Each and everytime they come to hate it
Their steel cladded darts spin
Conclaved and conspired, surely, as a group debates

So and so

how better to shove said rhetoric down one's throat
Gag, you better struggle. heh, no puking now
It's no use, the acids work as intented
Improved taste, clarify me this then
Am I to be an outsider, an exile
A sick mad bastard perhaps that left all that behind
were it to be pronunced factually
by overwhelming general consensus
that I came to drown in self-defeat
would you, my friends that I came to make
accept my death and forget
or moarn me, carrying me still
to the frontier of a new eve
the dawn of estability, neutral colours
and no everlasting pain.