Rebecca

Vices, vices, everywhere
But not a virtue thought
This fucked up world
This fucked up life
A pretty trinket for the night
Give up your good
Embrace your fault
It's lonely out there on your cross
Let pleasure reign
Cave to desire
Find yourself in squalored splendor
It's just one evening
You will recover
Taste the whip my sweet endeavor.

Word Vomit

Thoughts are cancer
Spreading fast.
Find a cure
Fair physician.

I can't take these thoughts,
I can't stand my mind.
The pills make me mellow
But take away my bite.
I want to be whole,
I want to be at peace.
With myself
With you
With life.

This isn't a life
It's a cry for help,
Unheeded.
Yell from building,
Whisper in ears,
My tragedy is silence,
My salvation buried.

Grab a shovel,
Push the dirt,
Make a stone,
To mark the earth.
I'll come out when I'm ready,
Or die amongst the rocks.

Crystal's clear
And quartz is clouded.
I scream and cry
For rescue unfounded.

But hope is here,
Amongst the rubble,
Shining quaintly,
Tempting loudly,
A reach away,
But I'm too astray
To grasp it all alone.

Lend a hand
or lend an ear.
Help me, please
You'd want the same
And I for you
In a different game
But this is for me
Selfish as it may be
It's not formal
To be normal
So help me please
Before this tomb collapses.

Vanity

Pluck your eyebrows
Pick your teeth
Skin unblemished
Obsolete
Must be perfect
Must be right
Oh you will be quite the sight
When your hair falls out
From too much product
Face in lesions
Tweezers bloody
Skin and bones
And thoughts a'plenty
A worn out shell
Still chasing beauty
Perfect torture
Tortured perfection.

Summertime Blues

Flip-flops
Lemon drops
Taste the summer air.

Face your fears
Retort your jeers
Live life if you dare.

Mostly water
Cannon fodder
Flesh with bits of hair.

Filled with smoke
Until you choke
Pain that you can bear.

Sleep til noon
Talk with the moon
Stars the show they care.

Storytime

Before the humid night turns grey
And the crickets chirp grows mute
Tell me all your favorite tales
Of fancies, follies and pursuit.

Tell me of the massive book
That is your darling life
I'll listen on this sweat soaked bed
With the sun and moon at strife.

Impress me with a fine adventure
Or sadden me with sorrow
The night ends soon and after all
Who know what comes tomorrow?

And with your final graceful lines
The sun's rays break the pane
A final query about my role
Secondary character, or main?

Temptation

Arsenic and Roses
It's such a pretty sight
When you're staring down a barrel
On a long and lonely night

An itchy trigger finger
With an empty fifth of rum
A combination made for kings
A song the beggars hum

This empty night is getting hot
My body growing cold
Its such a shame to walk this path
Escape meant for the old.

Isolation

Isolation is to be stuck in a cage. A cage made of bars. The bars are spaced perfectly apart, so that from any given angle, the opposite side of the cage looks just large enough to squeeze out of. Freedom is just a tight squeeze away, all you need to do is step over to the other side and work your way out. But you can't. It's a petty illusion meant to give you a false hope, so whoever is looking onto your cage can be amused by you chasing the exit. And suddenly, as you cut off circulation to your lower half trying to squeeze through an impossibly small opening, you realize that where you were originally is just slightly wider than your current escape. But it's a lie, the illusion is all around, teasing the condemned.

The cage is the worst form of isolation. It's not because of the limitation of movement, it's because your senses tell you what it's like to be free. You can hear others chatting, your can see friendships forming out of raw air, sometimes, albeit rarely, you can even stretch your hand out and scrape your fingers on the sandpaper of others. The eyes play tricks on you. You see other people crawling from their cages, but you remain faithfully stuck inside yours. This gives you hope. Hope keeps you looking for your escape, but then you see that the others cages were just a single wall, or perhaps a few, and all they had to do was step around them. But your cage is made of six walls - Four on either side of you, a roof, and a floor. You're trapped, but can taste the freedom on your lips.

Hell they say, is what you make it. My hell, it seems, is to be trapped in this cage and watch life around me, while I can only grasp the bars and reach for hands that don't want me.