The Ruins of a Faded Life

Along the echoes, past the icy shores. Dreams of a longing going unrequited. You made your bets and came up short. Here he is, the golden child. Seeking bitterness out of the ruins of a faded life. Bowing to the music from another temple. He dreams of iconic nights in a sheen of paper dust. Watch the film roll and watch it all burn.

Anxiety forms in the secret shadows, the faucet drips of a secret amnesia etching out familiar words to the former sacred mind. Disintegrating memories of compassion in a lifeless world. Business comes, business calls. Tomorrow's vendetta is last week's sense of dread. But hop in to think out for solutions in the week ahead.

If death was the answer, it would have been too good. After all, how fortunate it is for me to want anything at all.

Reign of Tormentors (No Life Back)

In an effort, what was it for? An open dream, that became empty! Demoralised by a ceaseless attack. When it becomes clearer that we're no nearer to making this better. Idealists can only go so far when perfectionists get overzealous. 

There's no life back anymore. There's no heart. There's no desire. There's no dream, there's no ideal. There's no life back anymore. Impotent rage is all there is misdirected at every stage. Doctors won't make you feel better. Take your medicine before they decide to change it. Underestimate every single thing because they who play god, calls the shots. 

Meditative music cures the buyer's lifetime remorse. Create an ambience that fuels a secret shelter. But this isn't definitive and it shouldn't really last as such. Forever moving the goalposts in an effort to save their skin but not yours. It doesn't matter if you try to talk about it, your words will be easily manipulated. After all you can't even be sure of yourself so why should they be sure that what you is true? Pure pressure cooker policy - it works like a charm!

When this reign of tormentors end, when the shoe's on the other foot, how will they respond? And what satisfaction will you have in witnessing via third-hand accounts?

At least when you die you can be ashes to ashes, dust to dust....

Life In The Dark

Don't reflect on the past they said. It won't help you along the way. Damages your health. Images are a perfect time capsule. A slight of hand to remember when the mind and the body are no longer in sync. You may be here today, but the memory that hurt you years ago still rattles with thorns with every turn.

I don't know where to go, I don't know how you feel. The empathies of charlatans to sell their wares under snake skin oil. Another tension in the light of past glories. If the supposed best years of your life weren't all that great, what use will the rest of it be? You had to deal with a stalker which turned out to be your own memory but she was there - that's so you!

If the light goes out, live life in the dark. Your denial will pay the price.

Mental Disintegration

You may know it all in the scene. The familiar drain that washes over your skin. I wondered why I live in dread when I feel as though I'm harassed at every turn. The mental disintegration was perfect. I could've cried like a child. You knew my weakness and exploited it after every loss.

Financial gain - it's always the same. Do we need to live in pain? The pills punch and kick. How come I missed a trick or two knowing you'd hide all there is. 

Haunted by flashbacks. 20 years of horrors. A controlling interest and a silly little boy who's ruined your projections. The mental disintegration was perfect. I could've died as I dialled. I lived in bahnhofs and dined on cheap chicken and pasta.

Where journeys go on pure voices if projections are to be believed. The time was spent - did you receive or deceive? Years alone and nestle through forests, woodlands and chimes. Remembrance is cruel but the torment is insatiable. You created replicas to dine on the feast of bad blood. Pretty soon I'll be bloodless but that's another story for another day.

Wasting time, wasting money, wasting away in conflicts of the past. Broken shards that splinter in secrecy. The mental disintegration was perfect as always. You knew my weakness and exploited it at all cost.

Memory (It all seems so childish)

Worn down. A man mired in treacle. 
You may remind me when my eyes sting and the light keeps them closed. 

Was there any difference when the pain disappears but you can't breathe?
The thought of a love denied reminds me of a broken heart.
Stronger medication required dedication in the certain knowledge
You would have revelled in constant conflict.

She is not to be denied even in denial.
The fireworks destroy my mental façade,
Even when I'm close to regret.

The only memories you cherish are the ones of private fantasies
Your bones wither in the memory of it all
Muscle memory relinquishes at the thought
That you would enjoy destroying a person in love.

1, 2, 3, 4 
The psychological beatings that he's taken
5, 6, 7, 8
So many believe that he's faking
9, 10, 11, 12
He isn't breaking, he's broken
Here's a token of our esteem.
It all seems so childish