Clot 51'

Ash

I stand on the precipice of madness

No will left, as I weep before the weight of bending sadness

I am only a fraction of what I used to be 

Half the man, then subtracted again into threes

I care not whether to stay or leave

I fall to the ground, turning reddish brown like Autumn leaves

This fire no longer burns inside me

It's outside myself now, 

as I burn down my whole world 

to nothing more than an ashy ground.

Catacombs

All these heroes are dead, hanging on my walls

The myth of God is a Santa Claus Facade

There is no guarantee of tomorrow

Only a guarantee of uncertainty

No one knows what lies around the next dark corner

Maybe an escape from this damn place

Or a devil in a new face

Or another life I will waste

A bit lip with that vile taste

Encased, in this lost fate

I create

A fantasy that could never take

All I am is fake

Sleepwalking in denial

Never wanting to wake

And face this hash reality based world 

Which by my own actions I did create. 

Vile spit

Apocolypse

Deathwish

Death kiss

Bloody wrist

I can forgive it all

Except the bulllshit...

by the unknown sith