i'm slightly broken, crushed, more void then human. liquid fills the cracks, smoke blurres the lines, music shake the pieces.bathroom tiles hazy, light flickering to the beat of my heart, and i swear i see him. behind me with the red eyes and a killing pin between his lips. cracked hands running through my hair, smiling at me like every part of his shattered soul were lying in my hands.bathroom tiles still hazy, light still flickering, heart still beating.he has my soul, too
i'm lostno light no dark just voidit's greyMy body is all dried up and used, too tired to move too tired to think too tired to speakMy arms are weak and my legs are shakingIt's depressionHow do you explain to anyone that your not sick nor sad, just weak?Night turns to day and day turns to night,over and over againWhen your body is dying but your mind is alive, thats hardBut when your body is alive and your mind is dying? Thats torture
I need to be me.I need to be sad without your tears drowning my head.I need to be happy without your nails clawing at every inch of my body.But most of all,I need to learn how to be me without you.
My God (oh, let me call Thee mine,Weak, wretched sinner though I be),My trembling soul would fain be Thine;My feeble faith still clings to Thee.Not only for the Past I grieve,The Future fills me with dismay;Unless Thou hasten to relieve,Thy suppliant is a castaway.I cannot say my faith is strong,I dare not hope my love is great;But strength and love to Thee belong;Oh, do not leave me desolate!I know I owe my all to Thee;Oh, TAKE the heart I cannot give!Do Thou my strength--my Saviour be,
A Pit -- but Heaven over it --And Heaven beside, and Heaven abroad,And yet a Pit --With Heaven over it.To stir would be to slip --To look would be to drop --To dream -- to sap the PropThat holds my chances up.Ah! Pit! With Heaven over it!The depth is all my thought --I dare not ask my feet --'Twould start us where we sitSo straight you'd scarce suspectIt was a Pit -- with fathoms under it --Its Circuit just the same.Seed -- summer -- tomb --
What does the hangman think aboutWhen he goes home at night from work?When he sits down with his wife andChildren for a cup of coffee and aPlate of ham and eggs, do they askHim if it was a good day's workAnd everything went well or do theyStay off some topics and talk aboutThe weather, base ball, politicsAnd the comic strips in the papersAnd the movies? Do they look at hisHands when he reaches for the coffeeOr the ham and eggs? If the littleOnes say, Daddy, play horse, here'sA rope — does he answer like a joke:I seen enough rope for today?