The Punch Screen

I feel your lips go down my spine Hands on your hips do claim you mine The silky skin redded with lust The sound of your breath makes me combust Was it all nothing but dream? Was it my high self-esteem? The thought of letting someone closer It appears I'm just a poser

Another struggle, another fight Another sleepless night In empty room, like statue, still I sit on the windowsill Darkness howls, darkness screams Denying me from dreams With pen in my hand I gaze, I think Then I reach out for the ink

A vulture circling around its prey Never really expressed Yet obvious for those involved are they Thoughts unspoken No need for anyone to say To be frightened, stressed No need to utter them in any way Words unspoken

My skin is pale and sallow my breath is weak and shallow my legs are made of tallow as I walk towards my gallows

The mighty blend that awakens dead The powerful brew made of magic The only reason to abandon bed to face the day, however tragic Hidden in a tiny cup a miraculous potion My coffee, my pick-me-up that sets my life in motion