Our Final Resting Place.Here come the elite they've brought the brigade,
Of soldiers abused but ever-so brave,
Alone and confused You stand in a daze,
Unsure what to do... you simply just gaze,
There they rise from the muck of the marsh,
from their heads to their toes they are covered in scars,
Watch them carry their souls As they dearly depart,
To the fields of the battle where wars will soon start,
They step up from the past and fall back to the future,
Their skin is ripped up, yes they seem so abusive,
The scent in the air's indescribably putrid,
And with every glare you silently lose it,
You tremble and shake having thoughts of denial,
Just what was this place where you stood right beside you?
And how did you get here? These thoughts oh-so frightful,
That haunted your mind while you captured this eyeful,
Then a soldier speaks up As he wipes off the muck,
And steps from the crowed So valient and loud,
One hand to his chest And his heart in each breath,
He looked so alive, With the story of death.
Baby DollAs you sit there heavy hearted,
You see a wooden soldier glaring,
"Pardon me dont mind the staring,
But it seems your so lethargic,
So un-alive.. are you responsive?"
With a nod you do look up,
yet dont respond.. it seems so tough,
To let one word slip threw your lips,
So like before you simply sit.
Upon the cabinet next to your locket,
Atop the box thats filled with sprockets,
Next to a tiny dinosaur,
That stood upon a bengals score.
"With such long black hair and eyes of velvet,
Why do you look so sad and hellbent?"
Cried the soldier, full of concern,
But only silence was in return.
You do look up but then away,
Its clear to him theres much to say.
"Hold your head up baby doll,
Or else you may just tip and fall,
Then find the place where teardrops end,
But brake your porcelain skin again-
-And though you may not think to care,
The love you sought was always there,
A lonely jack within his box,
Will hear you fall, His breathing stops,
He tenses up then quickly crumbles,
Senses fail an
UntitledAs scarlet tears roll from your eyes,
A state of fear consumes our minds,
A love not lost, nor glorified,
We drown in mourns of genocide,
No place to run, where shall we hide,
To mend these wounds; our tattered lives,
There hate runs thick, " Be Gone! ", They say,
Fore we meet god, as life's dismay,
Unorthodox, this is there way,
Fore we pay debts, this very day,
For this love of ours, why must we pay?
We have no sins, yet were shunned from shame,
I grasp your hand, this heart untamed,
Fore now we die, and here we hang,
The feeling of our sorrowed lives, I will admit it's quite insane,
Because we lust for one another, we shall never breathe again.
Laying on the floor
Death is imminent
If only life wasnt so short.
Eject the empty clip
Reload and feel remorce
Attain your target swiftly
Take aim and let loose once more
Worry not your own health . . . therefore
Accept the inner madness
Religion is no more, Fore you must Imbrace death as you did life being a.
Poetry Stigmatawe are designed to be statistic's,
within the eyes of our own existence,
whispering lonely confessions,
hopen that theres someone out-there that listens,
because our lives are so full,
yet our lives are so empty and blissless,
so we disguise all of our lies,
realize, then try to apply all of this lives lessons,
keep it hidden inside, until the peak of our mind is only aggression,
then we re-design this life, until our minds eyes see fit the reflecions,
so blinded by our own thoughts, bringing forth the most futile of our own resistance.