Saying Sorry...

What makes it right?
What makes it wrong?
When your head is spinning
And you can't tell black from white
Trying to do whats right
And knowing you've done wrong
A mistake is a mistake no matter how small
Saying sorry gets you only so far after all...

A Happy Little Poem

I have fallen into a state of joy
In times of sorrow I will rejoice
Though shadows surround me
Happiness is what I feel
Because that is the only way
To live your life when you say
I am fallen
I am fallen and weak
So listen to my voice as I speak
We are strong and true
This hardship we'll get through

Anxiety

Second to last but never first
You try to run and you always fall
Stuffing into a coffin as you go
Strung up by your heels by your regrets
And your meaning of time is set in stone
Whisper of endless time lost long ago
Sailing among the stars like a bird lost at sea

I hope you've made the right decision
These choices don't come lightly
I can't choose to have these visions
Gripping the edge of your seat tightly

I'm digging through mistakes just to find some good
The right I've done is at the bottom
Because I ain't done much good in the world
But I've left my mark and I've said my piece
You've left me no reason and no doubt
That I'm lost in the jungle of greed and hate
So here I go again calling your name...

So I hope you've made the right decision
I'm telling you these choices, they don't come lightly
I can't choose to have these visions
I see you gripping the edge so tightly

I am the darkness in your mind
I am the panic in you head
I am dragging you down and laughing the whole time
I am your depression invading your sanity
You're losing your mind and I'm laughing about it

Do you feel that itch?  It's me screwing with your mind
Do you hear that voice?  It's me whispering evil in your ear
Do you want to cut yourself and make yourself bleed?  I'll hand you the knife
Do you have the urge to end your life?  Guess what, that's me as I laugh the whole time

And I'm laughing the whole time too, because this has to be a joke...
This can't be real...this is not real...I am not real...

When You're Being Held Back

A little bit goes a long way
Just sit down and hear what I say
I'm tired of trying so hard and getting nowhere
But I'll make it further that you I swear
You think you can break me and cut me down
What I'm bringing to the table is a new sound
Other people get pissed off and angry
When things get weird you start acting strangely
I look the other way
I tear out another page
From this book of lies you've written
And these words are smitten
You've bitten off more than you can chew
Let me promise, I'm done with you

A World In Tears

Order turned into chaos, chaos turned into madness, madness turned into fear, and fear...well, fear was all that was left.

The cities burned.

The people died, and the world slipped into a darkness so deep that the sun itself could no longer penetrate it.

Plant life withered away.

Animals became more civil than humans and retreated into far corners of the earth where the blood and war was less.

In the end there was so much blood that the oceans themselves turned red and the dirt was stained crimson.

In an empty field of debris and falling buildings stands a man.

He is holding in his hands the only shred of sanity that he has left.

A book.

His book from before the war.

A history of his life that he had kept since he could remember.

He held it close to his chest as he fell to his knees, finally giving into his one and only remaining friend: death.

Fear was snuffed out by death, and death turned into a myth, myth became the end of time.

Collide

Pick up the pieces when our hearts collide
Defeat my purpose and I cannot confide
Broken apart by a senseless decree
Yearning to fly, yearning to be free
Battling the inside of the soul
Fighting a fight and losing control
You cannot win, you cannot lose
Stuck in a struggle forced to take the abuse
So you pick up the pieces when your heart collides
Feeling and freeing your mind and taking in strides
You've had enough, but it's never enough
Hurting yourself more than anyone just because
And so you cry out in anguish and frustration
And you stare into the eyes of the manifestation
Ugly are you, and beauty is love
Hurting yourself because, because, because...
But hope still remains as you lift your hanging head
You take the hand and your fears become dead
Your eyes are shining with tears and you look above
As you and your body collide with love

Blood Sky

Tora begot Ablam, Ablam begot Thagar, Thagar begot Temon, Temon begot Lucius, Lucius begot Fangar, Fangar begot Elmis, and Elmis begot Tablan who begot Ebor.  Thus lay the genealogy of Ebor's family.  They were not high-born folk, nor were they poor peasants.  They were a middle-class family who lived in the great city of Thamopolis.  Ebor, like his father's before him was a blacksmith.  He was no common blacksmith though.  For he had Elf blood in his veins.  Elves were known for their natural ability to forge beautiful and even sometimes magical metals.  Ebor was, unfortunately, the least skilled of all his family as a blacksmith.  Nevertheless he worked at it day and night, forging blades and armor that would sell for nothing but the highest price.  Ebor himself had forged King Mormont's current set of armor and blade.  The King's blade was short and broad with a hilt that twisted like tree roots.  The pommel was in the shape of a two sided flower with delicate petals.  Elven runes were etched into the blade and it was forged with spells that kept the blade from dulling.  It was probably Ebor's finest work, though he knew that his father or his father before him could have done better.  Still Ebor was the best smithy in the city, probably in all the land of Aeron.

One day Ebor was working, hammering away at the blade of what would soon be a beautiful exotic looking scimitar.  A man in a cloak with the hood drawn up walked into the workshop.  Ebor thought it was odd that the man wore a heavy cloak, with the hood up no less, because it was very hot out, as most days were during the summer months in Thamopolis.  The man's face was hidden by the hood, his head bowed down towards the ground.  In fact Ebor was not so sure the man even had a face beneath the hood.  Everything about the man was strange and slightly frightening.

"Hello there," said Ebor.

"Greetings, blacksmith," the man said in a raspy, low voice.

"How can I be of service?"

"I wish you to make me a blade."

"What sort of blade, most customers who want a custom blade have a drawing of sorts, some kind of plan."

"I have no drawings, but I will tell you my plan." 

The man stood there and when he said nothing Ebor cleared his throat and asked "What is your plan for the blade?"

"It is to be a double edged broadsword.  I know you infuse the blade with Elvish spells to keep it in perfect condition.  I trust my blade will not dull anymore than the King's blade.  The hilt may be standard, but the ends of the hand guard are to be rounded in a teardrop shape, with the end point facing out.  I want the handle covered in wolf's hair.  The pommel is to be shaped with a wolf's head, two diamonds will sit as eyes.  The whole hilt of the sword must be coated in gold."

"This will be an expensive sword.  My labor alone is not cheap."

"Price is no object.  Tell me, how much will it cost?"

"Twenty gold coins, and ten silvers."

"Very well.  I will be by tomorrow to pick the sword up, before sunset."

"I cannot finish the blade in that time, besides I have other weapons I must finish first, orders that were placed before yours."

"I will return before sunset tomorrow.  You will have the blade finished."

The man walked out and Ebor called after him.  He ran outside and looked all about the street but the cloaked man was nowhere to be seen.  Ebor returned inside and continued his work.  He finished the scimitar that night and though he had another sword that he had to start on the next day, he decided to work on the wolf sword first.  The wolf head pommel alone would take hours to make.  Ebor was not sure he could finish the blade in time, but he had to try.

The sun was setting and the cloaked man entered the smithy.  He dropped a bag of coins on the table and faced Ebor.

"Is it ready?" he asked.

"I finished it not ten minutes ago," Ebor said.  He walked to the sword rack and pulled the wolf sword off and handed it to the cloaked man.

The man grasped the sword and held it in front of him.  His face was still hidden, and Ebor was not sure how the man could even see anything.  The man stared at the blade for a few moments then turned and cut Ebor on the arm.  Ebor gave a shout of pain.

"What did you do that for?"

"I want you to feel what it is like to feel pain at your own hand.  Your hands made this blade, I cut you with it.  You are the reason you are feeling this pain.  You caused this pain.  Every sword you makes causes someone pain somewhere, you should feel some of that pain."

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"You forge death."

"I forge swords and armor!"

"You forge war."

"I'm just a smith!"

"You forge evil.  Now you must feel what you forge."

The man raised the sword high above his head and brought is down, cutting Ebor open from shoulder to stomach.  Blood gushed forward and pooled around as Ebor collapsed to the ground.  The cloaked man stuck the sword in Ebor's head and the took his leave.

The sun set red.