Reclusion

There's someone inside me that softly kills everyone around
They don't know they're dead to me cause intent never makes a sound
All along they found I strangled lovers who've learned from slower hands
With these eleven minutes I could teach you what I am

There's an art in seclusion. Production in depression
if a stranger turns up missing, this song is my confession
Tell the tales of the trail of dead, lovers learn from slower hands
Losing self in myself, inner demons make demands

You're suffocating me, so very hard to breathe
My mask is growing heavy but I've forgotten who's beneath

-Anberlin

My Place

I’ve got a candle
And I’ve got a stool
I live in a hallway
With no doors and no rooms
I walk this road with nowhere to go
With no means to get out of this hole
I long to see the sun
Or just a little bird too
But under the window sill
Is nothing but fill
A haunting melody echoes the place
Filling the way with haze
A sound so sweet and so heavy
A feeling that I can never take away
I close my eyes and try to sleep
But the dreams they never sleep
I try to yell but my screams in vain
Can somebody out there feel my pain
Lonely and weary I fall to the ground
Wondering when will I get out of this place

I am the son of light, the all seeing eye
I am the resurrected hope of Kingdoms wide
I am our tragedy, the liberating tides
I am the gates through which the crucified will rise
I am the Devil, and God and Jesus too
I am the distance between the sky and ocean blue
I am the earthquakes, the fires and the ruins
I am immortal, my kingdom comes for you
I am the middle, and the beginning of the end
I am the tears you reap when sin commands your head
I am the heart, the one that beats through red
I am eternal life, the death of death I lend

Deceived by my eyes and all I was told I should see
Opinions not mine, the person they taught me to be
One night in the dark, a vision of someone I knew
And in the darkness I saw, a voice say, I'm you.

Hearts uninspired, trapped inside somebody's dream
Too close to the fire, yet cold and numb with the pain
But the fever has broken, and the river has run to the sea
Washed to the ocean, and saved by a voice inside me.

Never thought I would be here, so high in the air
This is my unanswered prayer
Defined by another, so much wasted time
Out of the darkness, each breath that I take will be mine

If you close your eyes your life, a naked truth revealed
Dreams you never lived, and scars never healed
In the darkness, light will take you to the other side
And find me waiting there you'll see, if you just close your eyes

And Another.

I really don’t know where I’m getting all this energy from. I’ve been sleeping for about 2 hours the past few days and yet here I am wide awake at four in the morning. I just drank half a bottle of cough medication. Hopefully I’ll feel tired in a while. The thing I like about these wee hours is the silence. No screams of children playing or the roar of jet planes over head. Just the occasional soft wind blowing. It’s like watching the world sleep.
I want to write. But I can’t feel a thing. I’ve suppressed it all for too long. Sometimes you put on a mask for so long, you forget what’s underneath. I need to get away somewhere to collect my thoughts. It’s just so hard to get personal time now a day.

Maybe one day it will be the new Jacob's Ladder

Just another night.

Once again, I'm staring at this same blank screen. It’s just one of another sleepless night. I guess I’ll watch the sun rise again. I like the night, or rather the wee mornings. Walking the empty streets no one to bother about no one to care for. Wondering how it would feel if I was the last person left. I just might enjoy it, to just live life like I want it. Not a care or worry in the world. No politics, no culture or religion, no judgmental eyes glaring at your every movement. Just plain old me and my philosophy. Oh well just another delusion of mine. Isn’t it sad that without delusions one can never truly be happy? Sometimes I wished I didn’t have this gift that I pride myself so much on, to perceive the transitory character of everything. Isn’t it such an odd gift to know so much yet still unable to get what you really need? Such a cursed gift which spoiled all my joys; better: all my sensations. Yet I’m proud of it.

Write only if you are going to say in them the things you would never dare confide to anyone.

Life is empty, the sigh of the weak, the roar of the strong, the innocence of the child. My lost in emptiness sees only death. The knowledge of the Gnostic, The disbelief of the Atheist, the denial of the Agnostic, The Nothingness of the Nihilist, The belief of the Theist. I wonder what will I find? What will i see? How will i react? What will i be? Is there something to come from nothing? Is it that nothing cannot come from something? I wonder...

I pride myself on my capacity to perceive the transitory character of everything. An odd gift which spoiled all my joys; better: all my sensations.