View Full Version : Prologue/Nobody/Confessions of 3.A.M./Retribution

July 25th, 2008, 12:58 PM
(it may seem unrelated, but they seriously are a series)


Once I claimed a writer's hand,
my creations well-reputed,
but now, my luck is not so grand,
for this has been uprooted.

My greatest woe, these days it seems,
is my mischief-causing muses,
and my tongue, and fingers dream,
but they, this curse confuses.

I've not the talent I once claimed,
nor nothing anymore,
as far as what can now be blamed:
there's nothing. That's the core.

I'm no longer a writer,
my tongue is often crossed,
everything feels lighter,
for everything is lost.


It's said "Nobody's perfect,"
And that it may well be,
but if Nobody's perfect,
why can't Nobody see.

And then, as if to clench that note,
how do I bear that title?
"Nobody" should slit your throats,
and no longer sit idle.

"Nobody" is just to be caged,
somewhere deep down below,
and truly, must be kept enraged,
but never anger show.

"Nobody" is a heartless fool,
who takes our beatings, all,
just to play the common tool,
and still to take the fall.

"Nobody" walks among the live,
and sleeps among the dead,
"Nobody" cannot be deprived,
of visions in his head.

"Nobody" is invincible,
"Nobody" can't be touched,
and that is just the principle,
that wrecked him up so much.

"Nobody"s there to bear your spite,
He's there to ease your fear,
He tears himself up every night,
But never sheds a tear.

You cannot get inside his mind,
for he does not exist,
but when you're tired of his kind,
he, too, will get 'dismissed'.

Untouchable, in every way,
yet weak, in need of help,
He's broken, beaten every day,
but neither shouts, nor yelps.

His story is among the sad,
the tales of useless men,
this seems to make him oh-so-glad:
he'd do it all again.

Confessions of 3. A.M.:

We wake up. A day just begins, all anew,
we ask ourselves all : what's becoming of you?
What will you be like when this day is done?
When you fight this battle? and after you've won?

Does this ever stop? or do we keep on living?
please say that we don't, please let God be forgiving.
this eternal mass of time, is a most wondrous dream,
but have you not thought, in the end how boring it would seem?

Knowing this will never end, going every day,
Only to see what you've done, so quickly fade away.
Knowing that you leave no mark, no world is better off,
and all of those who've seen your dreams, look down at you and scoff.

Undistinguished, not a blemish, on the canvas of it all,
only going forward, while you feel pointlessly small.
Eternity's not comfortable, and very hard to live,
And so, my friend, I beg you: DO NOT, TO THIS, THOUGHT GIVE!!!


A dream is but a limit, especially when it's yours,
With the one that opens, you close a thousand doors,
For realizing all these hopes, has a snowball's chance in Hell,
and in case you missed church last week, that means: not very well.

But such is human nature, and this we must accept,
And silent, as an angel, did Death come while you slept,
He whispered in your ear, all the secrets of the world,
But all that he could tell you, you knew as a little girl.

Vi-o-lence and rapture, are not quite human things,
Though so often the nature, of so many human beings,
We know no longer love, and a kindness toward all men,
Our world is falling down, into the inky depths of "sin."

And as you hold your family, you tell them that you love them dear,
But that still, small voice of Death, still whispers in your ear,
Also to your lover, your pet, and your best friend,
you really must accept, they will all die in the end.

But I am not one to proclaim the world defeat,
There's just a point in my history, I don't wish to repeat,
A time when i thought death meant that all was just for naught,
But life is meant for spending ever ounce of time you bought.

Cherish every moment, relinquish every fear,
Look right in that Bastard's* eye, and make him disappear,
for Death is not a hind'rance, to those of us still alive,
Please realize soon that 'live', is not equal to survive.