The great game

The great game

I live, I die, I live again

Forgotten name

Virtue to sin

History repeats

I know the future

Because I am the past

And nothing was built to last

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Door ways

I use to be the hero

Now I know I’m the zero

I’m the villain who meant well

Yet destined to hell

My breaths are short

And I have no witty retort

For I know my end

Is written in the sin

Of all I hoped for

Wishful whore

Nothing else and nothing more

As I open the door

Queen Of the Bored

With cigarette eyes and whiskey lips
She came into existence
A moment to late
And a minute to early
For her the sun would dim
As she moved across the land
Queen of the bored
Often ignored
She haunted the constellations
Burning with desire
To extinguish the flame
That burned cold inside
An all to human frame
She wanted it darker
She wanted it pitch
Like her soul
If truth be told
So she searched the heavens
And found no answers
In her celestial kingdom
She knew only boredom

Cold December

I write the words, I will never say
Of thoughts I’ll never remember
Here in this cold December
I feel the heat of Hell nip at my heels
And know no peace
In the nights growing longer
As the apathy ebbs and flows like the tides
In a mind an empty dark sea
Craving a conclusion to my questions
And knowing the only solution
That never manifests in the waking hours
Between the short breaths of air and sighs of despair
Here in the solitude of disrepair
That echoes in my head

Day After

In the deafening silence of choice
The absence voice sings
Flashes of forgotten things
As hope will fade
To sting of the blade
What do you treasure most
When you are a ghost

How far do you run to escape yourself
When you carry hell everywhere you go
The guilt and shame
Of always knowing whose to blame
The scars always show
Living and dying in the moment
Only to be born again to new torment
With misery the coin of your wealth