Lost in translation
Like a painting, it stands to be observed
Interpreted and inspire
Like a play, well rehearsed
Performed and perfected
Yet that beauty unbeholden to the eye
Should wither, perish and die
For the unused potential it wastes
Is merely the position and pace
Of gyrations and vulgarity
Its ugly visage and stench refuted
Old Fiends
These things that I’ve done
They haunt me
Vile, wretched things
Taunt me
That their filth should return again
And I should face darker friends
With greater enthusiasm
I am the lighthouse
I am the lighthouse
I cast my rays upon the open sea
That those who should see the light
Will know that I harbor danger
For it is the safety of the shore
That alludes my jagged edges
Alone with you
We practice in dark things
I dabble in despair and you cruelty
The subject of your disdain
And my eventual exit
We trade solace in the parting gift
That neither of us shall return
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