The world is a bubble
a tiny little place
a world inside it’s center
our world always encased
surrounded by the same air
looking at ourselves
reflection in the skyline
our visions colored with light
the world inside a bubble
ourselves do we only know
the light that wraps around us
doesn’t actually help us grow

Screaming and dreaming

Screaming and dreaming
that this will all now end
the river of blood
that it has been pretend
that every pain and cut
that we have suffered
is just another nightmare
existing under covers
screaming and dreaming
of something than the other
every bit of malcontent
the dreams of cowards
years we spent
and now it ends with this
screaming in the decadence

To die a tree

I find it rather freeing
though the lesson is quite fleeting
I’m just another board amongst the floor
the wood in which you walk upon through doors
the first and very foremost a mark upon my soul
I find it rather freeing to get lost inside it all
a piece of decoration I find myself to be
waxed and made all pretty
so your guest can finally see
I find it rather fleeting how quickly one forgets
I may be a fixture but I am free in this
I know where my heart is, the bones and my lost flesh
I may be a floor board but I will die a tree I must confess
free from underfoot I’ll grow just as I should
I find it rather fleeting how often it’s misunderstood

Cosmic brilliance

Distant stars are wanting
souls of hungry ghost
the universe is taunting
everything is death
decay and fevered dreaming
drinking all the pain
remember you’re still breathing
but death will get his gain
the universe is painted
with blood and all this flesh
decayed and broken down
to cosmic brilliance.

Wake me

Touch me
touch me like you love me
feel me
make me real again today
show me
show me how it feels to breathe
I don’t understand
the meaning of sleep
everything breaks and I am me
a form of a body or something
if my bones shatter
I will not scream
touch me until I can fall to dreams
teach me to human
teach me to be
if I exist
it can be proven
touch me until I feel the movement


Everything is pastel,
everything is paint-
my world is made of candy
the structures are of cake.
No one really sees
the rotting underneath-
sugar coated madness
molasses covered teeth.
Everything is always
never, and at once
time is like a fondant
too much, but not enough.
Forever is an instant
and tomorrow buttercream-
an ever tempting moment
in my bitter
sweet insanity.