Hit the reeds

Pull your car over. I need to get out and scream. I need to let it all out. Cause I can't pretend like it never happened. I can't pretend that suffering isnt going to occur. And I cant pretend that it wont return after its done with me now.
I need to run out into the field and feel the reeds hit my hands. I need to walk this out, pace till I can find a definitive place for all the wrong turns. You may never need to catalog evil, but I need to sort this sickness. When you lose the luxury of pain being temporary, you need to know where your prayers go.You want to know where your blood flows when you pour it out for others. You want to be honest and seek truth, you just gotta keep praying as your pushing your sweaty hands into the dirt. You can't hyperventilate. You have no time for defeat. You have to move on.
Hit the road. Play me that song that burns my lungs. Let me pound my fists upon your dashboard, just enough where your airbags might come forth. I can hyperventilate here, in between the beats. You wont ask me about cause I'm looking kinda manic now. Just know buddy, I'm not ludicrous, I dont think I'm even ridiculous. I'm struggling. I'm wrestling. I'm burning for answers. I'm burning for some retribution, for justice and victory. I can't slow down right now. Not now, when my brothers backs against the wall. When my sisters mind is a playground for animals. How can I keep mute?

But if I speak, how could I defy the mold. How could I reach further than these governing ghosts?

 How can I trample the only notions known?

I will look for you. I will wrestle with you. I may come out bloody and torn and fractured

But I will know you. And I will have my soul.

It is not theirs to take.

Questions about Time Travel

White Grizzly has returned from his hiatus.I wonder what I will tell him. I wonder if my secrets will flee from my lips, or whether my second nature will seal me up proper.

I want to seal it up from everybody. I know this age is green, but bricks keep dropping like rain. Its not proper for this to continue. I was supposed to have made my escape long ago. I live in between mountains, in the valleys and the crevices. Its where I was born and its where I made my home. Every year I ascent those mountains, but I never stay, its so cold up there. Its warmer in this lonely town.

Sometimes, I wonder if all the grandeur I dream of will be looked at by historians as an irrelevant footnote. I'm always dreaming, always left in that dark wondrous neverland. Where history doesn't mean a thing, and I am not stuck here. I am in a hopeful future. Its hard to resist acting towards that future as soon as I awake.

I think the Man I am in my dreams is a different person. He's in love with everything. He really is a torchbearer. He has a light about him and his story compels.

Right now I hate everything. Mostly because the cancer reaches everything. The smoke arises from my foolish mouth and stains everything I speak into. Its like a cigarette addiction. Sin is like cigarrettes. Thing is, no one finds my smoke appealing. It stains homes, and churches.

I dream of a day where my breath is purified. But there no cure for sin. Just death.
Even when gazing upon the king, its in the back of my mind, gnawing away. I will look away, divert my gaze.

There is no cure. Sainthood is allusive. Must I always question your grace? Are the transmissions turned off? Why do I feel like I am the brides disease? Why do I always feel this way?

Blackbird, you would dream it all away. Sometimes I feel that way too. I just want them to be true. Not dreams. I hate these dreams.

Heartless Ghosts

Your just a ghost trailing me. You're always waiting for me to slip so you can steal my bones and feel the remnant purity crumble in your hands.

So now, I watch for you. I keep a notebook full of my paranoia. But I will bring it to court on the day I see you. And someday I will hunt you down, and I will bash in your teeth and I will set your lungs on fire.

You heartless ghost. You drive such fear into me. You heartless ghost.

Staying on this planet, suffering is standard. Where am I to go, how am I to leave? These bloody hands are my memories. When I get stuck here, when I am waiting, where are your promises stored? What canvern must I search, from what fountain can I draw hope?

I have been decieved my King. I am waiting for the breeze to touch me again. I am waiting my Lord, for the rage to quit its game. I wonder if this is what you intended for me? This old and hollow forest isn't my home.

My home has no witch overseeing my heritage, in my home, witches don't curse my family name. Its hard to believe that home exists. That it is somewhere. The idea that somewhere I dont have to hear the bloody cries of my family.

Though I fear, that my family may cry eternally. I don't know. I do fear.

I fear that witch may have her day, that she may have her way. That my torch wasn't built to destroy. And that blackbirds gaze wont hold her back.

King, if I were blessed, if I could ever ask for blessing, for favor. I would ask that THAT WHORE OF BABYLON, not lay her hands on blackbird.
I shutter when I remember my vision of her hands on blackbird. But I understand your message.

Dark cannot stand within the light.

At times, even that is abstract to me. But you would always wrap your arms around me, protecting me. I can feel your warmth, your security. Even in these hollow woods. Haunted with these God-forsaken memories.

Though whenever, I search for you I find you.

And I wonder, how God-forsaken are they?