Nerve Bending

A slow aching, bled dry of pain.

The pace of life sedates the sane.

Lure me into the fury of absence,

let my train of thoughts collide.

In a trance of confidence,

stirring up, I breathe cyanide.

Drawn in my horns, a stabwound slow-dance.

Holding on to a dog's fair chance.

A slow aching, bled dry of pain.

The pace of life sedates the sane.

I myself, I am a cold element,

but I contain a living flame.

Fading in, fading out,

last visit for a long time.

While a legend lingers,

we pine away, into clime.

The wish is father to the thought,

the thought is father to the truth.

Ignite the imagination and take it far away.

I grieve over things that end,

nothing in line to succeed them.

They become a part

of the horrors I hold in my heart.

Neatly pealed all layers off,

searching a stain to expose,

lay bare imperfection,

grow aversion, then dispose.

Now your self is bare,

in an instant flare,

if you have tears,

cry elsewhere.