No, I Don’t...

No, I don't want a daughter.

I do not wish for her to be the victim of a beguiling Casanova, promising her the world but leaving her with unwanted progeny.

Dodging would-be suitors because she wants to make a better future for herself.

Shamed into acquiescence, lest she is called a whore.

God had a painful plan, so she avoids a baby.

But many men avoid her because of it.

No, no daughters for me.

No, I do not wish for a daughter.

Ravaged by rapists and warlords of a pillaged piece of land.

Mutilated and eviscerated, her body desired yet her pleasure is scorned.

I do not want her to be told she has to be a wife,

or else she is a pitiful waste.

No, no daughters for me.

No, a daughter is not in my plan.

I do not want her to feel the pangs of parenthood, birthing another crying vestige of a life, that will suffer and waste away; a slave to the king that is entropy.

No, no daughters for me.

Absolutely, I wish to avoid fatherhood of the daughter.

Afraid she is going to be carted off to be some plaything of a dirty dastard.

Her will and womb are broken down,

for the grotesque amusement of some lord.

No, no daughters for me.

No, I don't want a son.

Emotionally scarred and scared of the world around him.

The knife of manhood constantly at his throat,

ready to assassinate him if he doesn't obey.

Like a tyrant of testosterone,

questioning his very being and cut down at a moment's notice.

No, I would hate to have a son.

Living in a world, where his finger is forced onto a trigger.

Killing other boys and men like him, hoping to prove his worth.

This "son" of mine is so beaten and so deranged;

his mind tattered and bewildered by the guilt and unforgiving gusts of the whirlwind in his psyche. His only hope is at the base of a bottle.

No, I do not wish for a son.

Placing cold steel at his temple,

for the burdens are too great.

His plaintive cries reach out to the sun, but in a language nobody understands.

A rope tightens around his neck, for the shadows of grief cloud self-preservation.

No, my dear "son" please keep away.

When your body is a plaything, the world laughs.

Wondering why you "allowed" it to happen.

Your virtue, a cruel joke when it is torn asunder.

Your manhood, constantly in question if you refrain from promiscuity.


No… No, I do not wish for a child.

End of the Line

I've done all I can, hiding the beast away,
but with fang and claw,
I will rend my prey.
Limb from limb, with a mighty roar
blood-caked face, teeth mired with gore.
On a manic mission for your life,
no comfort for you, heart filled with strife.
You shouldn't have bothered, should have left me be; an eye for an eye and you will see!
You prodded on and on,
in spite of my pleas, you're human cancer,
a walking disease; Knock! Knock! Here comes the plague doctor.
You've failed the test, and I'm your proctor!
You've reached final payments, and it's time for your dues, and here's something else you probably knew. You can't take it with you,
no matter what's said on the pulpit;
Lucky for me, you can't run faster than a bullet.

Here to Stay

I wish this were just an isolated incident,
Hope this could be called a coincidence
But shit, it happened again
death's torrent took one more friend!

I'm just trying to make it through the day
but my instability won't seem to go it's own way,
and it looks like the indecision is here to stay.
So why even bother anyway?

A chorus within begs me to try,
like the anthem that assures me, I will not die.
So amidst the abyss of self-doubt and lies,
it pushes me along in spite of my plaintive cries.

It would all be so easy, my bucket to kick
but fuck it, I want to keep trying,
despite my depression and sighing.
So like it or not, I'm here to stay;
with hands held out, I hold on--Just one more day...

Go My Way

I may have lost it all,
but now I have heard truth's call,
it may not be easy,
but the alternative to this makes me feel queasy.

So please see, with your third eye if need be,
that the only option I have is to be me,
Going my own way—
So please take a deep breath and count to three.

Because I know you hate to hear it,
and what I'm about to do; you fear it,
the shit I'm about to do is drastic,
but please—don't get spastic.

I've looked at the game and have decided to walk away,
I've concluded; the only way to win—
Is not to play.
Vote with my feet; I'll walk my way.

You've claimed to have seen the product, but all I see is an empty shelf.
Those shysters among us, their mode is in stealth.
So now that you've seen it like me;
do us both a favor—and leave it be.

Maybe

Maybe I'm a solipsist?
Because I am obsessed, and my darkest fear is,
That I continue to exist; or, maybe I'm a pessimist;
Call me Schopenhauer,
I'll trudge forth to my darkest hour,
May-flowers; but denied my April shower.
When it comes to me, enemies know one word: Devour!

I continue the fight-or-flight
hated by both worlds; represent the black and the white.
Now, I do agree, that there is much beauty in the verse,
but in all honesty, all I can see is the curse.
I can say there is one thing we can all agree on:
This shit is only getting worse!

I want the world, but can't seem to come full circle,
and I've been told to drop dead, guess its time to meet Nergal!
I so want to be called Nicholson, cause I want to start shining,
I can't level up even though all I do is grinding.
Yes! My thoughts are unreliable, and this too is undeniable.
So I'll try to take a stand, see how horrible the trial goes.
Now watch as the enemies come out in droves.