Aerethemus RL Love of SilverSyrn's blog: "Hands"

Snakes slither over her lithe body, Sweaty sleek form rithing in painful ecstasy. I want to to touch her, I want to hold her, I want to burn her snakes into my heart. I want to feel her pain.

Thundering dawn come and melt away, The corruption of evil in which I lay. Give my mind the semblence of a sunny day, So my soul can find peace.

Another town on this lonely road, Travelling from where my strife was sowed, Where I had become the walking dead, Yet I still bop to the elevator music in my head. Three times loved, three times wife, Love has failed within my life, To hell with love, I've no more tears to shed, But I will continue to hum with the elevator music in my head. Again I will walk this trail in hopes that someday I will not fail and into love I will not tread. I will resist it with the elevator music in my head. And when it comes time that from my lips, come no more rhyme and I quietly lay within my earthen bed, Visitors may hear my elevator music in their head.

Do you know how I feel, a storm with a single continuous peal, of thunder shout for a soul neglected and ultimately infected with loneliness.

Within my mind's eye, a sad sad cry of a child calls for hell to burn. Concern for my well being from those closed to seeing, echos in the chasms of my soul. I know the me, I know the "I", I know what it takes to make me fly. Death beckons to me with talons stained in blood, yet I turn away from the day that simmers in the cold. Listen to me and set your child free, for today, tomarrow it is all the same just play the game that separates us from the dead.

Mind numbing babble flows in the tears of rich and famous rabble. Images flash before my eyes, resentment is all I feel for her cries but beware of the lies for when the shit flies everyone wants a piece of the pie. Silent are the protests of those whom chose not to involve themselves in the chains of events that revolve around media madness and I scream, 'Why oh why do we try, we should live yet we chose to die.'

Shed the bonds of a sober one, throw the chains assunder. Talk to your hands and make them weap, for they know of the distant lonely thunder, that trembles the boundries of your everyday life.