Dear Mr. Narrator, I have been here for quite some time, doing exactly what I thought was right or what I thought you wanted to see. I might have deviated from that a couple of times but at least it was less predictable. Truth is, I'm tired. I'm tired of this shell you've assigned to me. I'm tired of holding this husk together and I don't believe the upkeep is worth it. I know I have it better than most but that does not console my soul, it's disencouraging to be honest. I have but one request, let me leave. Let me go somewhere where I wouldn't have to see or hear what is there. Let me slip away somewhere where I wouldn't be. There isn't an

I am a leaf on the wind, watch how I soar said Pterodactyl the dinosaur now you could probably tell what demise him befell wrong! he lived a full life and he lived it well the only relation that by meteor was hit was his wife a cheating piece of shit in Heaven Pterodactyl ceased and dessisted because Jesus said: "You guys, never existed."

You left a hole             an abyss of swirling emotion. A reservoir full, yet distant dark and unreachable to the curious mind's eye. Is it shallow? Is it deep? Is it enough to drown? I don't know. I see only the edge                the precipice so rudely, violently torn unshapely design. I hear only the whirl, the bubble, the creak of thick ice. I smell only the vapor returning to its lake bed. It's important the what's-going-on-there, it is I need to know, I should know. All I can see is the shape of the hole FOCUSING ON THE FILLING TO FORGET THE FISSURE

I am cold. She left me cold. I am cold. Cold as a tap water painted in oil temperature of comfortable unknown in truth burning by boil or frostbite I am cold. Cold as a tornique? Dry as a funeral drum? No! Dry as a floor. Caution, caution, dry floor! The martini has been spilled. I am cold. I am a rock - a volcanic stone - in flight. I am cold. I am an island - an independent island of Pompeii. I am cold. Red as the coal in the campfire. Coal to burn the soul off                                                                        sole of your shoe. I am cold. Cold red Co-dread Cold dread Code red co-dead

The Christmas present I got for you in October of late sits uncomfortably atop my shelf unsure of its fate. I try to try to think selflessly but every approach has a thing for me and every thing I might do is sure to damage you. I'm hardly gonna keep it there it represents my effort and the hell you have put me through for the crime of trusting you. Now instead of joy it should bring I hope it will at least sting make your knees go weak make you unsure what you seek. I'm hardly gonna destroy the wretched thing even though it is a wound that's festering and burning it out might offer some catharsis leaves me to think what fuckery this is.

I think that this one's pretty self-explanatory so I'll skip to the next one.

Doesn't matter what you know you don't need to fear which way you should go cup your end, it is near There she might stand bereft of skin, bereft of hair but all in all, in the end she's the only one fair You shouldn't tremble before her fist falling down begging on your knees NO! You should get up and 've her kissed As in this life, the only certainty, she is So welcome Death with smile on your face for now you know, she's the one who saves

Was there ever a time? Or are we all timeless? Ageless? Senseless? Why can't you hear me in my distress? Do I appear to mime? Would it help if I'd SCREAM? Semaphore? Sign? Meme? Desperate, do I seem? In for a penny, in for a pound I've shed blood and tears and blood But tears? Tears nowhere to be found Send pigeon, raven, horse or a hound For I'll be waiting here In the timelessness of mind.

When you fall asleep in my arms as I was telling a story. When you snore so I can't sleep and even have to worry. The heat of your skin on mine, yet innocent. When you're only for me Yeah, I miss that