Xthetic

Money becomes sand Become blood becomes Tears becomes silence Becomes time becomes Old news.

The streets are paved with blood, So long the languid passing years Have walked in tears and gore With wounded souls that weave and wind And leave their brutal past behind For some new future, menacing and sore.

We should invent new words that have only one intention, to save people from the terrors of insanity.

The degradation we try to pass off onto other people will always find its way back into our heart, for we're always running towards it as we flee it.

We're so tormented that the suffering we experience taking in so-called "entertainment" is accepted as the price we have to pay to forget who we are for awhile.

We say that we use language, but perhaps it is language that is using us. Our reactions are colored by our thoughts, which are made of language. We're trapped in an echo chamber of words defined by other people that contaminate our state of mind. We are never alone, society is always in our head.

I was nine by one nine seven four And twelve by seven seven, But when 2000 and nineteen met My life was nine eleven.

I like being damned, I emit fever dreams, When I scream I am caught In what screaming thought means. I am loathe to escape For there's nowhere to flee, If it weren't for my errors What else would I be?

I-Ching Hexagram 56: Seeking

When teeth are naked But the tongue is cloaked It is upon our own words We have choked, For clever though they be, They tell a lie, Instead of truth, a prisoner's alibi.

Demons might be appealing until comes feeding time.

A marble store of luxury and gold Replaces the community of old Where smiling friends that cared could once be heard A parking lot now covers every word.

If someone in the woods fell would we care? For maybe there was never someone there, The trees that witness this have naught to say But in the evening breeze they'll dance and sway.

Great Leader

The frenzied fingertips of spinning slaves Has sent ancestors flying from their graves, Their sacred rest disturbed, they rave and rant, But future does the monstrous things They can't.

What a foul mess I have made of this alone, To skulk around with mood that's carved in stone, And fearing my own shadow, oft' depressed, My scarlet desperation burns my chest.