Liars

We fly above the moon,
Worthless beings of beef and milk,
Cheese is what grants us happiness,
To steal our neighbours silk.
Peaches of the softest juice,
With hardened centres of drunken curtains,
Stare at the lights that clear the darkness,
The tears of the moon lost to the weary,
Inebriated cousins of wasted birthdays,
Rotting tables of aged teak,
Make life bleak,
With caps of the broken,
Silhouettes of lanterns with extinguished wicks.
We fight for the lost bleeding hearts,
Whilst digging into the gutters of destroyed livers,
Striped shirts of corporate hogs,
Who steal the songs of the righteous,
The whitest ghosts that make the shadows bright,
The lotus amongst the brittle cactus.
The ending happiness of relationships lasting,
Living through the love of others..
And cutting branches off the strongest trees..
Felling the sap to the ground only lost to the hard desert of molecular grains of broken silk...
The cry of a mute,
Heard by the deaf,
Seen by the blind,
Only saved by the faithless....

The Lily

To watch the lily as it grows,

But never had time for the sow,

Too busy caught in the day to day,

To stand and admire the suns rays,

As they illumine the painted lily,

To make the murkiness seem so pretty,

The underbelly of forgotten souls,

As they decay slowly towards the holes,

Of rotten flesh and destroyed dreams,

The plotting of those horrible schemes,

But out of all this eternal madness sprouts a lily,

And only then do you realize why the murkiness seems so pretty.



- Marc Crasto.

Did I have to?

Did I have to?
Did I have to see you go?
Did I have to see the show?
Did it never matter when the wind blows?
Seeing is believing they say,
but there has never been a day,
when I wanted you to pray,
that we were never over,
and there existed a four leaf clover.
The heart is nothing but a toy,
meant to be played with for one's own sick joy,
but I never saw it die,
for now there's nothing inside.
And life is never as it seems,
there are choices I regret.
For reasons unbeknownst to me,
I smoke my cigarette.
I smoke for the times I've always been let down,
I smoke for the times my smile was met with a frown,
I drink to satisfy my life's failures,
I drink to try to move on to green pastures.
but I'm as healthy as a horse,
seems my throat never gets hoarse,
to sing as sweetly as the nightingale,
amongst the hardened voices of the pale.
Now all that's left is a sigh,
a soft reminder why I'll never get high,
to right the wrongs of my rotten past,
and stand tall as the ships mast.
Creeping slowly towards the end goal,
of happy thoughts and a bright yellow shoal,
that greets me with an evil smile,
the ghost of what I've left behind.