Was it ever real?

If you knew me better,

You would know I'd take the bat,

Bruise as done before,

Welcome it over and over,

As long as I could recover.

But you don't know,

So you will never know.

Poor Me

You believe the poison to be delicate,

Structured and ready to strike.

It was planning the deceit

And training for the fight.

Once willing to kill any remnants of hope,

It planted it's territory and went back to its hole.

Thrash the one to acknowledge the pain,

They can't speak anyways with ducktape on their face.

Cast out the one with clean intentions,

It'll be easier to let them absorb and for you to ignore.

Built on Nothing

Fathom the depression
And the dirt you chose to bathe in,
They have no linking chain
To suppress every sin.
It'll burrow and shout its name,
While you sit and ponder
Why it's come back again
To unveil the shame.
We have no more youth
Or space for reluctance,
You're on in five
And you don't know why.
The devil is back on the market
And he's calling your name,
It just so happens that he delivers
And gift wraps the insane.
What's inside is inevitable
On the premise of self loathing
And taking ones hand
Who already can't stand.

Yet you welcome the dirt
And think the mixture blends,
While ignorantly swallowing
The belief that it'll mend.

I’ll take the anger in,
Who knows how long it will last.
But I do know I can’t survive
The battle between indecision.
Happy or not,
The love is still there
And I can’t tell it to go away.
So I’ll let the redness
Stay for a while
And see how much gumption
I receive to stand tall.
Without you I still bleed,
I can admit when I’m down
But I do know it won’t be forever.

Eclipse

Don’t pick at my dreams
You have no breath
To waste on pretending
Your mouth opens.
You can squeeze out the tar
From the fire burning at your heels,
See if I remove the clamp
And play it any different.
It would still cave in on the wicked
Whipping all slum
Right back into shape
Once it fell slack of love.
The pain subsides at the soil,
Mixed with sweat
Upon your chest
You suffocated.
So don’t point the callous
From your decaying hand
Spouting my recovery as shame
And my coping as morbid.
Though I can’t repair what you have done
Or let go of that lovely glimpse,  
The dead is gone
And my strength defies a corpse.
Grow initiative as done before
To lose the white knuckles
And let the slivers settle;
I already know how to pick for blood.