FUCK ICE 3 (Iron Fangs) Only the hands of desperate cowards Cling so tightly, grasp this hard Until every life blurs into one Until we are the faces in the crowd When it takes six pathetic slugs To murder only one of us They have to know their days are numbered And coming to the end

How quickly this dissolved With fires lit by gemstone wit And perspectives evolved Animated, yet left cold Thumbs unopposed to traveling...

Trending towards a kind of darkness Towards a sickness cyclical Advertised with slickness cynical A vision miserable before our eyes A...

A poem about the pain and grief of a world with a disturbing inability to provide any kind of closure or justice to the victims of...

Drowning in Hours Maybe in the darkness You can touch the textures The stains on the uniforms unfolding And without eyes see truer colors...