I take delight from the suffering
dwelling in madness
when driven far from compassion
no light will take away the darkness

There is no quick silent torture beyond the soul
and on to the flesh
Reason falls from trembling lips
on to deaf ears

Burning hate
like love set on fire
passionate to the grave
ashes over the desire

Savored by the cold and sharp
believe in a savior
who will leave you in the dark
to answer your prayers

Feel your heart beating with hope
maybe it's all a dream
but you won't truly awaken
not to a soundless scream

You will see my burning heart
when the day will come
I am the last star
before you see the sun

Is it all a dream or is it real
not knowing the difference between pain and fear
and either way it stings when you can feel
everything you were afraid of reflecting in your tears

I shall call you my dream
you will see me again
not remembering me
as you never do and it will never end

The rich man has his money
the poor man has his love
the rich man without his money has absolutely nothing
the poor man can find love out of nothing and that is enough

Money can't buy happiness
but it can buy friends
it can't buy love
but it can buy a marriage

A person could buy loyalty with the side effect of betrayal
in the end they're on their own cradled by money making them personally frail

When the world around you takes a turn for the worst
all that paper isn't going to cure hunger or keep you from dying of thirst
your going to be stuck and caught in a storm
you can at least burn paper to make a fire and keep you warm

It's life over possession to get over fear and aggression
from lies to confessions money rules the world
at the peak of obsession  at the end of the world there will be a lesson
learning to survive and using your instinct would be a better investment

Money won't keep us alive
it fuels those in power while we believe the lies
this is the after life
we are the saviors who live so they don't have to die

Dear poem I am sorry I have forgotten you
I meant to memorize you further than my mind
there was nothing for me to write you in
now you're just a thought I remembered I forgot
so this is your memorial to recognize your art
you had a good sense of humor and you made me laugh
I remember that much about you
you were made up of a bunch of words, but you were still you
it is just so hard to remember everything that made you who you are
a bunch of ****'n words...

Few words really mean anything even when there's a lot to say.
My mind doesn't only experience words in a single thought.
It all comes down to sounds and images.
And some of those sounds come out as words to describe ideas.
It seems my imagination is more active than I am anymore.
Dreams mean more to me than my own words.
I'm just creating garbage that takes up memory which occupies some kind of space.
Maybe some of my words can be someone else's gold.
All I know is I don't know anything, I just experience it to create a purpose.
I suppose if my words had more purpose, they'd be more meaningful and I; more predictable.
The only change is the collaboration of ideas.
thoughts that could have been put into words.
words put into action.
actions that could have changed the world.
the world that keeps spinning.
Do our lives mean anything to anyone other than our own kind?
What we really depend on doesn't really depend on us.
So what are we really doing here?
We have changed the world in more ways than one and that is about how much worse it has made the world.
We have made more ways to **** than anything else.
But then again it is death that makes room for more life on the surface.
Everyone deserves a chance to make one great mistake to change everything.
In the end doing nothing is as harmful as doing something so either way we're all going to die anyway.
Words don't have to tell you to see it this way.
Personal experience will bring us somewhere and show us something.
We still have a different point of view so what we see won't be the same thing.
What good are words then?