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The Wind Cries Your NameThe wind cries your name
As I feel your touch while I peacefully fall into sleep
I see your face when I dream, and it sets my soul at ease
The wind cries your name
I see your reflection in the mirror as you embrace me from behind
The warmth of your touch makes my breath deep and my exhale so calming
The wind cries your name
As I get ready to start my day with you
I love when you smile as you watch me undress
The wind cries your name
I ask you questions about life
I ask you questions about us
And As I wait for your answers so patiently
I hear the wind cry your name again
And then it whispers to me, with a respectful tone
"She's not really there"
Darkness engulfs this fragile heart
this excruciating pain, tears me apart
its fiery blaze, entices my soul
burnt to ash, be as black as coal
Someone save me, from this fiery hell
a life entrapped, within a cold dark cell
it burns, oh this sensation so horrid
the nightmares at night, the visions so morbid
Don't cry at night, dearly beloved
your carrion tears,brings death to the wicked
be the past of past, forever stay lost
can never be found, its not worth the cost
Pay your price, be it only redemption
everyone has it, there's no exception
A broken doll, lays in the wake of it all
the dust filled castle, the marble paved wall
let this be the tale of a maiden who died
by her own demise, carrion tears she cried
The roses of may, wilted echoes the sad song
never did she see the deeds shes done wrong
blinded by the corruptions of life
yet her heart remains forever pure
As she struggles from the baphomets strife
be death, her only cure...
Dead...I wish to sleep and never wake up
for all theres left is pain
kindness just aint enough
to keep me from going insane
What more can I give to satisfy
those who expect too much?
all my life, ive lived a lie
i break with every touch
I shed tears like theres no tomorrow
yet it comes either way
No pain can compare to my sorrow
self pity, you can say....
why do I hate all there is to life
yet still find time to laugh?
the pain of bearing all the strife
the burden of life's wrath
just leave me in the tainted dark
so I may rot away
the scars of past have left their mark
and broken, ill forever stay
To blame oneself for others pain
your kindness makes me sick
your perfection brings me unrelenting shame
it hurts with every clock's tick
One so happy and lived life with glee
one whose already dead
one whose pain you could not see
one who has gone ahead
When you fall for rageIs it even necessary
for me to describe her?
She's the blood on your hands,
right after you killed somebody's loved ones,
reminding you of the awful person
you believe you are and the
sins you hopelessly bury
under your pillow, so they will
keep quiet and let you pretend
you fell asleep the following nights.
But somehow, she makes you feel good.
It's the burning feeling you get
every time she lets words slither
out of her sick mind onto your tongue.
You spell out her thoughts as the
piercing eyes of society judge you.
How could you ever explain
it's not you talking if that
smile, on your lips at the trial
as you said you would do it again,
looked so sickly convincing.
It was the aching of your heart,
that cold night as the leaves fell
and the wind whispered you'd always
be as miserable as you felt then,
that woke her.
And somehow the knife in your pocket
interpreted the laughter near the fireplace
of that warm house in the suburbs
as a dare, as a mockery.
And the bloody pictures
SmileSmile and forget your worries
Smile; let them see you're happy
Smile and hide behind this mask
Smile; submit to the façade
Smile and think that you're happy
Smile; think that you're safe
Smile and start dying inside
Smile; become emotionless
Smile and become nothing
Dance With The DevilThe Devil stole my soul away
He took it for pennies of its worth
I thought I made a deal with him
Until I crashed and burned
He borrowed, robbed, and gambled
Till all of me was gone
He laughed at my misery
Left me blind to right and wrong
So I went looking for this Devil
Who claimed to own my soul
I went to ask him how he thought
My soul was his to own
I found him dancing with delight
Upon his black sinned stage
And there he danced with souls
He had wittingly engaged
"Devil," I said to him
"I'm here for what is mine."
"Here are only things I own,"
Came the snide reply
"But I don't remember selling
Or even saying yes."
"Awe but that is what is grand my dear
I didn't have to ask."
He took me through his evil rooms
Showing me on the way
All the souls given, bought and sold to him
Every minute, every day
And there before me were my sins
Each and every one
Least to greatest counted there
Till all of them were done
"You see?" He smirked and shook his head
"All of them are mine."
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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