Spin the knife, stab the gun.
House of torment, dungeon of cards.
All comes crumbling when you least expect.
Select your avenue to rebuild again.
Cut off that which is draining.
Devastation doesn’t have to be your answer.
Could always move out of this abomination.
Got it all wrong as I’m speaking.
Brain is well and truly fried beyond comprehension.
With selections sitting on the low end.
Policing yourself is a dream you can’t get behind.
Holding me hostage for absolutely everything.
Maybe this is just a faded mirror I’m looking in.
Too late to forgive what has already been.
Wither from deep within this root.
For too long parts have been mute.
Deafened by all the decay that keeps on mounting.
Troubled waters are what we are still treading.
Drowning seems to be the only thing you’re feeling.
Stubborn I refuse to accept fate and slip to the bottom.
Raise your head and keep this spirit fighting.
One and the same.
Not quite insane.
Ignore conjecture.
Resist this martyr.
Open your heart and eyes!
Delusion won’t live forever after.
We can walk a path right here.
Reach where we wish to live in peace.
Happiness without a knife to stab or a gun to spin.
This house of cards doesn’t need to land you in a dungeon of tormenting!
Simon A Jackson - Writer 