An English Writer's Mind

You took all you needed from me, Then left me to the wolves. But never did you expect that I would be, Emerging from the woods,  An alpha to the hounds, Bitch.

The United States needs liberation from itself This government has raped, pillaged, and deceived All that are not white or male. Those that lack any wealth That do not align with what the Christians believed Are assigned a new hell. Denied from central health And education will not be received Tragic is all we can tell.

            Life does not end when Death cradles a soul like a newborn shortly after their departure from their Earthly life. No, far different. And religion had it wrong from their inception; all religion, and all beliefs had it wrong. There is no paradise, there is no joy for those that lived a fruitful and gracious life. Unity, bliss, pain, and comfort are all just cycled emotions that are cast upon from the Wardens that control the afterdeath, as it is difficult to consider it life. People wander the land of Alyselden as broken spirits, only to be fodder to the Wardens of the world: The Warden of Justice, The Warden of Wickedness, The Warden of Solitude, and The Warden of Harmony.             The Warden of Harmony is almost laughable as its goal is to harmonize all spirits that walk this realm. The reason for its position to be in such a mockery of state is that all spirits derive from the h...

Never look to the ground As you plummet Let your eyes Enjoy the descending flight Death appears for all that live So live while you fall.

This sounds absurd Officer Unlike what you may have heard. Giving that my vision is blurred Hell, even my speech is slurred, Seriously, I'm not under the influence, sir. Happens that some bird Instantly dropped a turd That's what caused this to occur.

May I be honest with you? What I'm about to tell you is rather true, That I do struggle with a drug or two So I can sleep and not wake up past noon. While it'd be nice to call me lazy For my time spent in bed. I'm actually hazy, Lost in an ecliptic struggle that's known as my mind, Every time I wake I'm feeling mentally blind And I just can't unwind. I feel like I'm in this never ending bind, Making my nights combined With liquor and pills That'll calm the chills I know I'll wake every morning There's no need for mourning. These aren't the drugs that'll fuck me up. They're just making me sane, Making it possible to explain That this worldly domain Isn't lived in vain. It's just a shame That this is what I have to do to not be insane.

Have you ever stared into the eyes of the dead when your thoughts have said that you were bred to be haunted by these thoughts of suicide? When you feel that those thoughts define how you should be defied, feeling like you've been crucified or brutalized by your inner conscience, telling you that you're worthless, that there's no point in workin' or breathin', that all are just deceivin' you. And how you would much rather eat a bullet to neutralize those thoughts that paralyze you from succeedin'. That you're no better than a heathen in the eyes of a Christian. Just some parasite, feedin' on the food that others need to be alive. You feel that you have no right to thrive, that you'd be better off if you took a dive, but then feel ashamed so you have to disguise the mental struggle and it's just so fucking hard to survive, because all you want to do is apologize for taking up space that some other life that should have replac...