crux of my potential
inert by forces exerted
pressures upon my soul
breaking me in fissures
running with scissors
to cut deep into my mold

etched in ice
statuesque in painful detail
placated by chilly reception
should I be that I am not
caught up insane games
a masquerade of deceptions

effortless yields not nothing
cause something does exist
cultivating hope in dying throes
subsisting at least, to resist
at the end of a rope, tying knots
or praying for sunset's close.

maybe....




"why do we have a war on terrorism? we need a war on apathy and ignorance." - maynard james keenan

"help me or shoot me - make a decision"

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

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