I might be dying sooner when I fight these nightly tumors/
I assume its likely to in times in spite my dicey psyche/
You know the drill, bite me. Screwdrivers to get me railed/
Until Im hammered enough to fall asleep on beds of nails/
So take that hacksaw and saw this hack into a thousand pieces/
Put it in your mouth and teeth it, chew it til its ground between em/
Drain my blood and use it when you write a page/
Describe the taste and tell me if Im truly worth the ground I sleep in/
Its the semi-psychotic Henny and vodka mix/
With some Remy Martin and a medley of monster flicks/
Im on a mission for the ending of all of this/
Im contradictive, full of empty intoxicants/
Im a desperate, desolate mess of skeletons/
Who second guesses questions, intentions when all the messages/
Mix and sections of skin are left dissecting your ribs, infected/
With pestilent hexes that exorcists fix, so check it/
I got two bad hands and still built this house of cards/
Just an average Jack up in the Club who thinks he found a Heart/
But I dont go to clubs and dont believe in love/
Or holding hearts in grips unless this fist is into which its bleeding from/
Its bleeding from, its bleeding from, its bleeding from/
I look into the bleeding sun and whisper with my bleeding tongue/
All my poems are telling that the bleedings fun/
Until this carcass reaches heartless, telling me the bleedings done/
After birth, theres just afterbirth/
And after thats the aftermath and consequences/
Cause after life theres nothing thats after death/
And after death theres no afterlife/
And youll agree that eulogies and afterwords/
Are&words, after birth from aftershocks/
And afternoons of afterthoughts/
So after you, Ill follow you to Acheron/
And after all, while you cant just save yourself/
From this place in Hell Ill say farewell until the sun decays/
With eyes open hoping nowhere nosy poachers dug our graves/
The silence is talking, walk-in, weve all been in coffins/
Hostage to cautious responses, solemn and lost in the nonsense/
Often I follow my conscience, bottle and swallow my problems/
Wallow in hollow with processes, toxic hostile menages/
Its just another itchy finger that I know expects to pull it/
And Im in the line of fire every time youre sweating bullets/
Because&(these nights) its getting harder now to go to (sleep tight)/
When everything is haunting me&
Until I take my heart and squeeze it til the bleeding stops/
(Speak to God), but Id rather go and (reach the stars)/
So I could pluck one out the sky to navigate inside this shallow grave/
If I cant find my way back home/
Know that Im safe in these catacombs/
I stand alone in the window with the casket closed/
And latch to hold the stack of bones/
Yeah this ship is on the path I roam, but thats just home/
