Carry On Home

A kiss of death upon this land,
I feel I’ve walked for miles.
My feet are aching to the bone,
From marching me through trials.

Through lips so parched and eyes so blind,
The weakness creeps it’s way.
I fear that though I’ve long to go,
I cannot last the day.

The wind calls out to rest my legs,
And soon I lay in dust.
The light of death takes hold of me,
“No, carry on, you must”.

With blistered hands I find my way,
For I have seen the light.
And I know that when my time does come,
Each breath was worth the fight.

©

Venom & Whiskey

I’d tell you that your crazy but, well, who am I to know?
You’ve been running ’round in places that the manics only go.
By 1:00am you’re wasted and by eight you’ve had your fun.
I wonder if it’s normal or if you’re the only one.

You’re talking to the devil while he plays you for a fool,
I wonder if you fake it, or if you really are this cruel.
Your eyes are getting heavy but you’re resigned to stay awake,
You test and test my limits, prodding how much can you take?

Just when I think you’re hopeless, a body without soul,
Your eyes come back to haunt me, while your lies, they take their toll.
Maybe I’ll pick up the bottle, right where you last left it,
And drink away my thoughts of you until I’ve forgotten every bit.

I’m learning all your rules now and I know just what they mean,
I’ll save my doubts for later, and hope that you come clean.
You’re in the other room now and you’re screaming your objection,
Angry that I have the venom to accuse you of deception.

The echoes in the hall, still linger the next morning.
You took your coat and headed out, but left me with a warning.
Square one again so I decide to sleep the fear away.
Knowing that I’ve trespassed, and that I’m going to pay.

©

Waiting for the will.

I’ve come to a bridge,
Now, it’s time to make a choice.
Not knowing whether it’s fear that stays me,
Or some inner voice.

Running out of excuses to turn back,
While waiting for the will to step forward.
I stand at this bridge,
And it’s time to make a choice.

©

Vivien Leigh minimal.

I’m not doing so well as far as pain goes, so, for the moment I’m just going to post another one of my drawings. This isn’t my favorite drawing but I was quite happy with how the depth and shading of the eyes turned out. Eyes are by far my favorite feature to draw.

Elizabeth Taylor minimal.

Minimals are the perfect solution to my short attention span and pain problems. I can complete a drawing without spending nearly as much time on it and still have it look presentable. It may not be as good as the fully detailed and shaded thing but hey, it works well for me.

©

Work in progress.

Here’s a drawing that I’ve been working on. It’s definitely not finished (in particular the hair, left side) but it’s getting there. I’m slightly apathetic to how this one turns out because I damaged it, note the big fold mark across the top right corner.

©

Summer’s beauty.

She was afraid of what she’d find when she looked in the mirror. Deep in her eyes was a truth that had so long sat dormant that eventually even she had all but forgotten it’s existence. 

She had chosen to believe instead, that her reflection was not one worth summoning and that it held no beauty, no hope and no promise.

I wondered how she could not see it; that she was no less than a flower, delicate, but undeniably beautiful in it’s fragility.

So much so that like a welcomed summer, my life would feel absolutely incomplete in it’s absence.


©

To Feel, Alive

His sleeves, stained red, with self hatred and an endless need to punish himself,
Desperately searching, grasping, dying,
To feel, to feel, to feel alive.


He wears his scars for the world to see, why should he care?
They know nothing of his suffering. They know nothing of the lengths he must go,
To feel, to feel, to feel alive.


He remembers a time, smooth skin, still innocent of the trials of a tortured soul,
Innocent of a boy who doesn’t belong, who would do anything to find meaning,
And to feel, to feel, to feel alive.


To what end must he mar himself, when no matter how many drops of sorrow paint the floor,  
It is never enough to truly allow him his peace,
And to feel, to feel, to feel alive.

©

Apologies, sort of.

Maybe I am sorry,
For all of the things that I said.
It’s been hard for me to think straight,
But the night does clear my head.

It’s different, being lonely,
It’s where I feel at home.
Sometimes your presence scares me,
Because I’ve spent so long alone.

I’d drag you through the kicking and screaming,
But I’ll always be the same.
Trying so hard to keep you out,
Because I’m the one to blame.

Maybe I’m not meant for this,
It’s always you that’s trying.
You could take my word, “I can change”,
But it’s my lies you’d be buying.

The best thing I’ll ever do for you;
Close the blinds and lock my door.
Maybe one day you’ll understand,
I just couldn’t hurt you anymore.

©

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