I imagined it being oil on water,
Those faces I saw; floating,
Between layers of blood;
the sheets of inbetweeners,
I rested myself; undreaming
.
I never saw the truth between the lines,
unwritten as God intended,
the spoken words; bleeding,
truths as dreams in believing,
with only my guilt lingering
The pain you see is not mine / I have too many faces / there are so many places / from which the pain hides / you strike upon their weakness / such an endeavor; unworthy me / an ocorina of time; chirping / zealously guarded henchmen; masturbating / pain; stacked on shelf upon shelf / use-by date expired / tired death awaits / master, master; debate no further / the republic will not survive / transmuted
I planned to celebrate St. Patrick’s day; me,
Without the saintly part that be,
Me and my days that tend you see,
Swimming down the river of St. Guinness’,
Another saint that never helped,
Another me that never flourished; really,
Padraig my friend; floating barely,
You might as well; give up,
Give in; let the urges overtake,
Uncork that bottle of Jaegermeister,
Pretend it be the black gold,
Flowing from the land; of old
