RaNdOm RaMbLiNgS

black is the color
of my unkempt soul
grown out of proportion
yet still not whole

darkening the walls
of my lonely cave
seems no one can love
this forlorn knave

the pitter patter
of my heart seems to stop
whenever i think
about all of this crap

think not, want not
hurt not, love not
it may very well be
all my life is for naught

complacencies achieved
with rigorous effort
moments forgotten
out of your own accord

in your mind's womb
traumas have gestated
to prevent their spawning
they're forcefully aborted

blissfully unaware
sumblimely ignorant
darken your knowledge
from flourescent to barely illuminated

imbecilic by choice
everything seems lighter
burdens seemingly unload themselves
but nothing changes in your plight

futility in action
is apparent in your motions
for this is all a nasty ploy
to bury deep emotions

glaring eyes watch my every move
as eager ones meet with mine
a tug of war occurs at the moment
between bold desire and sheer torment

to be or not to be
that may be the question
but neither can leave my soul at ease
or provide a sound solution

jealous eyes pierce my soul
as new ones glow in my direction
intimacy that took time build
nearly vanishes with abrupt intrusion

sadly as all nights must do
this one must surely end
with almost nothing achieved
and a heart harshly broken

why must young hearts be so fickle
why do they make moves so brash
in the end there must be resolve
or all may end up in one big clash

death should come
the those like me
partaking of pleasures
not rightfully mine

death not sweet
nor gentle or swift
but excrutiatingly painful
as was meant to be

intimacy uncalled for
embraces unwanted
spread over some victim
with no hint of consent

animal instinct
overwhelms my being
all i hold to reason
seems to have gone

death should come
to those like me
no mercy be given
to one such as me

a strange age we live in
this age of the lost
both young and old
in apparent unrest

conflict and confusion
and empty delusions
fills the hearts and minds
of each and every one of us

broken hearts
and empty promises
grow in profuse
all around us

an age of calm and soothe
we seem to thirst for
but any effort to satiate it
is but forgotten or ignored

in a guiding light
some do believe in
but sense and faith
are rarely ever in synch

as flesh is torn by steel
blood flows in profuse
from a gaping hole
at the side of one's head

falling backward
as knees weaken
shards of glass fly
from bottles we just drank from

sweet time we had turns bitter
people once calm enter hysteria
as assailants flee fast
in an act of great cowardice

calm and composure
turn quicky into wrath
the sanctuary we took long to create
has now gone awry

still we remain
steadfast and planted
picking up the pieces
of a broken puzzle

but comfort and security
are bound to return
supported by many peers'
able hands and warm hearts

playing with fire without full attention
burning skin and hair with unintention
but fire gives warmth longed for
warmth coveted by poor souls

delinquent hearts playing foolish games
ever ready to fall once again
fervent prayers remain unanswered
together with wishes made so long ago

exercises in futility become everyday routine
as rejection and disappointment turn humorous
they now leave only superficial bruises
as opposed to the deep scars of yesterday

laughing at the strangest predicaments
playing the role of the jester
maybe we can laugh at everything
while everyone laughs at us

why do tears still streak across
the face of this forlorn creature
why does heartache not cease to exist
for this sad fool who wishes to smile

why does your face still seem to appear
in front of my eyes whenever alone
why does your image still seem to change
the rhythm of my heartbeats, whenever remembered

why does your voice still pull at my strings
even though you are miles away
why does your smile still hold my breath
whenever i see a glimpse of its glory

why do i insist on persistent rambling
about the pain and emptiness in my heart
why do i still mourn the loss
of something that was never mine

equal parts of disdain and mistrust

an ounce of hate, and a pinch of lust

mix it all up in a bowl with despair

bake in an hearth of pain and angst

serve on a platter with fury and loathing

and add dab of revenge, to your taste