I've wasted time on intuition, decomposed
upon waste baskets, plastic, melting in the moonlight.
Oh, the irony of generic dispositions
as an artist starving for a smile and thirsting for a tear.
Raise my head to the sky,
replacing status quo for dramatic inquisition. What a fright!
I refused to sell my soul for bartering bargainers,
trading life for a dime-bag that extinguishes my fears.

Walking alone, walking on my own.
Stroll alone along an empty, darkened road.
Sing alone. It's all an empty song: fulfilling,
breathing but unwilling,
falling slow to roam.

I came upon a brick, decomposed upon trash cans
and "Yes I can"s, melting in the moonlight.
He said: "I've no soul, I've been knocked down to fight alone;
without my brothers to form a sanctuary.
So where do you go when the stars provide no sense of admission?
I'd swallow my ammunition before I turned my eyes to the night sky.
And so alone, with a mind set on my Hell of mercy,
swinging from a cord above me, an after-life of my own purgatory.

Walking alone, walking on my own.
Stroll alone along an empty, darkened road.
Sing alone. It's all an empty song: fulfilling,
breathing but unwilling,
falling slow to roam.

Dissatisfaction cements the pen to paper
when questions reap a lack
of never knowing how to feel.
I've a question for a true believer:
if stars relapse, are you the deceiver
crawling backwards, denied a heart of steel?

Some will never be broken. Others fall.
Does anybody care at all?
Everyone is broken
all the while I fall.
Do you even care at all?