Convalescent youths
But they fall into the same habit
Running towards the same drug
That their parents followed to

Freedom, money,
Job, security,
Settlement, Children,
It’s a cycle for the poor in imagination.

Stockholm Syndrome

Most are trying to get out of the maze
But I don’t want to leave this confusion
It’s a Stockholm Syndrome of sorts
And I wish I could stay in this trap forever

Call it military,
Call it school,
Call it prison,
Call it home,

Call it what you want
But you know change is a bitch
And those awful years were the best years of my life

Quiet Crush

Not a single word
Not a single sound
And yet I smile through it all
Just so you know
I don’t feel hurt by your shroud
You make me find you
But that’s hard in the maze of your peers
And your delicious mind
Which I used to eat
Has put me to happy tears
But now you’ve started to nibble on mine
And this good feeling needs to end
Before those three horrific words resound
And nothing can be mend.

Spare Me

He knows
The man knows about my crimes
My mysterious shadow keeps secrets
But in front of him,
They won’t tell lies.
My poltergeist writes in blood,
What I’ve done on his white walls,
There’s no hiding from him
And every night, I hear his call.
Fate will catch me
And feed me to him
Even though I can’t predict the future
I know there’s no escaping the death din.
I’m a dead man running
With no where to hide.
I can’t expect myself to out run his dogs
Or his rippling howls of terror,
Or his plagues of frogs.
There’s no denying it
That I’ve done wrong
But for the last time,
Spare me Lord.