nails and wood

gotta go and get a gun
put a bullet in it's head
squeeze that fucking trigger till I'm sure
it's good and dead
should have been done a long time ago
should have been done a long time

push a little button send it
back where it belongs
i ain't coming back until i
know it's good and gone
should have never been done, my friend
should have never been done

gotta put it down before it
blows up in my face
now i know there ain't no use
in trying to run away
don't know what I was thinking, girl
don't know what I was thinking

nothing left but trouble if I
don't act pretty fast
nothing is forever, mister
nothing ever lasts
gotta find a way to move on now
gotta find a way to move on

looked for it in the mirror but
all i see is me
and that ain't even who I am
what should i believe
gonna hang it on a tree tonight, son
gonna hang it on a tree tonight

euthanize then eulogize
won't be much love lost
do the crime and do the time
it's how we count the cost
nails and wood, that's all
nails and wood

from Bipolar Cofessional

"The Burning Hell"

The film succeeds. On many levels. I'm scared.

Love's Easy Demanding

Love demands the strong embrace
The firm pressing of flesh
To explore the contours and subtle lines
With eyes, heart and hands
Forests and constellations to map out
Legends to calculate

Evaporates without the words
Or eardrums to beat them down
To play ring-around-the-rosy
In the fertile field of the brain
That seeks their comfort in every sense
Deaf, dumb and blind spirit

For love's a blinding supernova
Incinerating all who approach
Hungry for physicality
A moon to measure it's movements
Though that satellite be
Lifeless cratered rock

from Bipolar Confessional

Reckoning at Days End

I deserve this
Don't I?
It was my battle to win
In a war far from won
Who will take my reward from my arms?
Who would squelch the music in my ears
Or explain it's virtues with cold theory?
I have seized the moment
The day I have called my own
Will the morning sunrise expect me to be content
With victorious yesterday
Will the calendar's relentless trajectory
Put me back in my place
A paradigm of depression where I've convinced myself
I belong
Doomed to breathe borrowed oxygen
Or will chemicals and sleep
Ease me into another easy day?
Who among you would take that away?

from Bipolar Confessional

Monument

Now lay back and forget
All the days that brought you here
Or make a mental monument
Of hours painting empty skies
Of moments lost in wondering why
The colors bleed without the rain
To wash the canvas dry
Still they run, these memories
Together make a life
Flesh and blood for ghosts and stone
To wear out for a time
'Til entropy's harsh design
Leaves nothing left behind
That wasn't there before
The beginning of time

Good intentions buy nothing
In the formless space of this machine
Not even the soon forgotten happy dream
Comes without a sinister scheme
Dead weight of nothing, heavier than air
To the fish caught on the hook unawares
This monument would grow so large
There wouldn't be room anymore
To notice the moment before it passes
To find your way through to the door
That opens unto forgetfulness
Cursed but just as often blessed
So let it go, lay down, forget
You haven't really even started yet

from Bipolar Confessional

Denial of Mirrors, Twelfth Stage, Second Attempt

Wipe the slate clean
Abandon preconceptions
I will prove your reflection a lie
As you turn to face the other way
As you turn to face another day
Don't you regret not being able to forget
When the harvest of your ego
Piles worthless memories at your door
More and more, how could there be more
Dismiss the reaper, send him home
With his razor sharp sickle so finely honed
Tell him "Leave me alone! Leave me be and go on!"
No longer scared of his skeleton bones
11:11, this must be the time
There must be something you need to be reminded
But what, that's the rub, where can you find it
Can't feel it or hear it or smell it or see it
And it travels the speed of light
Close your eyes and catch that flight
Dream your world and see the sights
Magical tygers burning bright
But no souvenirs, travel light

(from bipolar confessional)