I have the Midas touch, but instead of gold I only create more death.
All of these are like trying to swallow a rusty knife; I feel this in the beast’s pit,
This feels like I am going through a massive withdrawal of meth.
Tears turn to blood, and blood to hate, each breath becomes harder to make,
She is my Dr. Frankenstein, but she looks away at the beast who lays dying.
But yet none of this feels real, it feels like a dream, I am shaking but I won’t awake,
As this new hatful beast and this old loving fool, I think what was the point in trying?
Trying to
fail is what my father would call the ignorant fool’s game,
This man
tries, and tries to win, but plays it always the same.
If there was
a true goal to everything in this world, it would be to cause pain,
But that is
just my altered perception of reality, for those thoughts are not sane.
This journey
is like trying to tango with a three legged monstrosity,
As I see now
this whole thing is just my duality. As I see now the heart and mind constantly fighting for ultimate power,
One demands logic, the other drenches in an emotional shower.
Standing
here now listening to myself, all I can think is that I need help,
For what is
the reason that a man can feel like a lonely whelp?
Unless his
mind has decided to take a break, and go
for a walk,
While his
animal side stays and begins to talk.
I will find
my way out of this pit of hate I have created,
It is just
hard, and makes me horribly frustrated.
I have to
move I have to persevere, and break through my wall of fear,
Even though
I stand here alone, I will never shed another blood filled tear. 