Blink

Blink By Wyze

What does this mean, burned are my thoughts of rebirth.
I am cursed and can stand to bare the weight no more.
I am told that I may not have the bread and butter, but
what good one without the other?
My smile is plastic, my words are Hollow. I rehearse a routine
that comforts the masses and keeps the demons at the gate.
but my eyes close every other second only to display my freedom
within the darkness of a...

Blink

I dont think because although freedom of thought and decision is a right,
its not suggested.
What am I fighting for? Even if I were able to dispell my inambitions
my siren sings a song of guilt and sorrow, and I may only hum the ballad.

Blink

The door of innocences locks from the outside and I may no longer enter.
Disgusting,Horrible, disrespectful. The description of the sinner, and yet
the words themselves are a sin. So what places you above the trough?
Your nose digs into the leftovers and feceses first and last, while I only
wish to sustain life.

Blink

I am not a martyr for your crusades and your gloat in favour of Morality.
you stand there and believe there is just this. You believe my actions
are those of the flesh and you choose to refuse the mind and heart.
For if you were to aknowledge them it would then be an even harder
fight with morality. Do you stand by the principals of the heart or mind?
I to once judged and placed blame. I to found content in self, in pointing
flaw and correcting error. And yet what if our judgement was flaw and error?
do we find less beauty in the rose that grows in the swamp, than the one that grew
in the meadow....a rose is a rose...

Blink

My reunion with death is brief yet educational. Those that would have felt sorrow
in my passing, feel no pain my my excruciating solitude. Yet they care?
Ironic how those that want whats best for me is so sure that I am unable to
recognize it for myself.
My reunion with death, has the sickle rested gently on my neck. and the foot of his
robe sways almost metronome like in and out of view as I lean forward for the slice.
Death's face, a blank canvas with expressions of eternity and pain spelled in blood.

Blink

Who would invite such a creature, willingly into their own mind? I suppose
the sinner would. The sinner that craves the sin but cowers the priest.
The sinner that does not recognize the sin but is reminded that the heart is a
deceptive thing that only those without, may truly understand morality.
Why then does god place one in my chest if only to be removed?
As Death raises the sickle I raise a hand of overflowing narcotics to my face.
there is no more sin, no more heart, just morality, just the constant chant of the
crusaders as they view the remains of the sinner and shake their head questioning
what would have driven the sinner to this extent. The confusing question never
dwelled upon long enough, for there are to many sinners to address and yet
not enough graves to bury them

Blink.