Northern Wars Options

[sikdragon]

Northern Wars

now that i'm about to let it all out-
that the shade i'm hidden in'll let me down-
swirling sirens encircle the violence-
where can i go to feel free from this-
anticipating the lists, so far beyound slitting the wrists-
on up the arm, where i can cross that river-
previously stated, i wanna be sedated-
fall asleep, trance like facet in my delayed-
reaction, the faction that sleeps deep-
where i can tilt the walls to feel it seep-
out from my veins and fall from burning planes-
the age, by which i claim the false mane-
it falls from my eyes and i wish to weep-
incapable of approaching the threshhold-
inconcievable, preposterously unbelievable-
that i never lied to you, and how great it seemed-
that the wishful thinking and your vague pause-
never could one imagine taking such a loss-
whether to's and the why for's have all more-
in their meaning than previously stated-
oneiric in mention, like a pirate to definition-
slicing through the pillaged faces of my heart-
and to pick up the ribbons, where to start?
why bother, let them fly in the wind of this sin-
wherein the faultering line lies within mine-
there for the world to see, and the whole world to keep-
my shame, my guilt, my animosity built-
there at the seams where the postulate dreams-
wearily i fall, there for the small-
and staring into the stars, wishing for one by far-
end my benevolence and strife, take this miserable life-
it seems that the gleams of heightened masses-
stimulate the irrate and falls off and crashes-
run on the life whereon the salt will call-
the withered tree branches and stall the feathery chances-
By whom do you claim the blood spilt in my name?
can you seek to justify my blame in a straight fame-
where the guilds of death reign and the bloody rain-
that falls from the ground and it's a rivetting sound-
and the small voice of a child buried six feet within-
my chest, beneath the pump and behind the rest, cries out-
"the north wind has carried a message, the final city has fallen. The cold wars of the norse myths fought in the long mist where the watery graves freeze over. Where the depraved feeds the clover. That the shattered glass sheet of ice laid sober on the gland that shoots over the essence that lessens my license to run by this. I believe it can't be shattered no matter the matter that tries. Unless my cherished has nothing but lies. Then by all i hold dear, i have nothing to fear. Nothing to protect, nothing to collect. Meaning has lost it's consequence. Limitless, as i leer into a mirror that isn't there."