Dead battery is love lost and left to die

Our love is a dead battery
Nothing left to power our drive
Leaving us in the middle of nowhere
And you just don't seem to care

My murdered heart have a tv interview
Said you molested it every night
Said that you started all kind of fights
Left it black and so blue

I gave a piece of me to everyone in town
Trying to tie  myself down
I never could I never tried hard enough
I always tried with shards of steel
As bright as the lights above
But the dead battery couldn't support life
So withering on the edge of defeat
My blood lead next to my knife
And it was the most perfect thing
Otherwise I would have nothing

Our love ran on its last course
Dying on the last bit of life
Everything we had was mine
But you stole it every single time
Leaving me wondering how this happened
Frame after frame of memories left inside
Died with the battery left outside
Running on nothing but hurt
You left me on the passenger side

Our love is a dead battery
With nothing left to care about
A hunk of shit with no feelings or drive
Lost to the nothingness inside
Parked and left for dead
Abandoned without an ounce of regret
Left in the middle of nowhere
Without you I don't seem to care

Heart Full of Nothing

I always loved this piece I created...Idk what the fuck was going through my head...I dont think it makes much sense..but to me at that point it did...

There's a ballroom in my heart filled with people in black uniforms 
snorting this nation into the nose of illusions and black vault of 
ecstasies where death is the new style of choice. Faceless individuals 
walk with a limp and smack each others heads with mechanical tentacles. 
They learn how to sing to the marching bands black symphonies without 
missing a note, yet are lost within the melodies of tragedies. They 
drink from cyanide filled cups in the shape of human hearts. Content 
with the end that will split their spine.

Drinking the germs from their spine it tastes as bitter as wine they cry 
tears made from human fears. But they won't say nothing, won't stay for 
long for its almost midnight. They have work in the morning. They commit 
crimes against nature crimes against themselves as the nature of the 
moon fixates on the guts of the sluts and the heart of the harlots 
beating them and crushing their lives into dust. A pregnant teenager with 
abortion on her mind, a corrupt priest with a alter boy between his 
legs. They say not to drown, not to get down but its hard when the 
politicians of religion strike fear in the orifices of human thought. A 
natural born philosopher lynched on the street, made to bleed for his 
beliefs, crucified for him mouthing off.

Plenty of sunshine falling down on me. UV rays giving my skin cancerous 
spores and burning my eyes. I need sunglasses to keep them off me, I 
need sunglasses so you don't recognize me. I don't want the world to 
see through my eyes. See through the lies as bright as the skyline on a 
sunny day. The mouse imprisons the souls of its slaves, drains them then 
rearranges ever speck of dust from their skin, every aspect of their 
sins and I am one of them. There's a black symphony in my heart as the 
percussion are making a melancholy melody that goes with the tempo of 
my blood flowing through my veins. The violinist pulls on the strings of 
my emotions and the winds play my mind and sexual organ. I fancy them 
like they were for real and not a metaphor. I play with the thorns of a 
rose and make a wish every time a bee stings me. I'm holding hands with a 
perfect specimen. Long dark hair, perfect 10, black coal eyes a face 
that can replace the spot in my heart of the lesser few that inhabit it. 
She uses me for my life force, drains me every night. But allow it, I 
love it, I need it. Misguided through a world of drunks, addicts of 
every sort, mechanical beings and savage scapegoats, I stand alone among 
the libertines of determination, yet mine is stronger than those inept 
creatures which feast on the good souls of others, who would for 
the right price kill their own mothers. No I am not one of those, through 
maturity I attend to find salvation through my own enterprise and I will 
slowly but surly rise to become a god among gods, a libertine with taste 
and class, a true power to be reckoned with.

The Whore Chronicles Part III

Let me breathe on my own

I need to teach myself how to live again

I need someone to talk to sometimes

But at times everyone is busy

I need to let out some of my angry out

The crack on the surface is beginning to grow

This shit is about to blow

But where are you oh faithful watcher?

Where were you when I began my change?

When I let the darkness into my life

Where were you when I began my change?

When I let everyone stab me with my own knife

I never meant to fall from your good graces

I just needed someone to talk to about myself

You were too busy dealing with yourself

I was abandoned to roam the roads on my own

I need to learn how to breathe

So please let me breathe on my own

The Whore Chronicles part II

If you need me ill be here unconscious

Becoming unglued in front of you

A needy motherfucker with nothing to do

A once hot flame slowly beginning to fade

Not even a moth will come towards me

I’m useless, nothing worth giving a shit for

A dumb ass, a shitty whore

Not worthy of being fed a dick

Not worthy of anything

Nothing will make me feel better

Never even this heroin in my veins

Not even this booze injected in my brain

There’s too much pressure to face every day

I just want to flee this world and run away

I want to stay away

Before the last glimpse of hope begins to decay

Sad kids

My heart plays a sad lullaby
Singing to the kids that are sad inside
Too scared to move too damaged to hide
Not able to take that final ride
Too afraid of the after life
What lies where told of getting better
They knew that it only got worse
Bullied and tortured all their youth
That was the only truth
The only certainly besides death
Scared with each walking breath
Suffocating in their own skin
For what they were
What clothes they wore
Who they loved
How they did their make up
They are cowards they lied
Well these cowards wished they could die
These kids are so sad
So very very sad

The Whore Chronicles

Motherfuckers are geared up for an attack

I don’t face them only give them my back

I’m used to being on my back

Legs up eyes bloodshot

Waiting for my next hit of crack

Gotta get done with this trick

Then go on to my next fix

When I’m high I feel so numb

As these motherfuckers fill me up with cum

My fingernails are pink and bedazzled

My head feels like a baby rattle

As I'm getting it from behind

I think back about the time

When I would fuck just for fun

Before I became this dirty filthy cunt

I was meant to be something more

But I became a feeble whore

Only worthy to be on my back

Just so I can get my crack

Just so I can get high again

To numb down this pain

Wanting everything to end

Muse

so I was going through my old facebook notes, and I was re reading some of my old "poems" and I decided to post some of the ones I liked...that way I dont have to write stuff ...lol...This one is called...MUSE...



I need a beauty in my bed
To get the juices flowing in my head
No not that one 
You sick minded individual
But I still find it kinda hot
When your soul slowly starts to rot
I'm looking for a broken heart
So I can find some spare parts
My own is dead
So I need a beauty in my bed

You are...my most beautiful muse

A new muse I need to use
In return ill let you reuse
My own blood in our love game
Just remind me...what's ur name?
Oh I'm sorry I thought you were someone else
Ill let the juices flow through my head
This time I mean that head
You sick minded person
Hurry up or it might worsen
My volcano is about to erupt
And my body self-destruct
All because of you
My most beautiful muse