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The Battlefield has grown damp, Raindrops fall over the pools of blood from the tragedy, The war is over and all is behind us. Just be warned dont look back.

As I walk this horrible Red Carpet to victory Tears pool up like wells in my eyes, look at what has happened, The dissapointment of what you did and what will happen next.

Paper Bullets lay in the grass.. worn and faded from being trampled by oncomers. Theres nothing to do but cry myself to sleep as all i have left in my mind is this memory, this picture.

I lose myself in this dreamland, losing grip of reality itself, and as i create a rough draft of myself, torn and ripped is the paper that i forever must write on.

So am i supposed to care, I've already prepared for the heartbreak you've been planning, The skin had gotten tougher through the years, and though you leave me cross the broken bridge, I won't tear up this time, wouldn't want to tarnish the bright skin you left me with.

I'll be bright for you, show you what you put me through, we'll never talk again but is that my fault?

Walking the battlefield of truth and lies, I smile, and though I dont wanna be spiteful, I trample the bullets you shot at me once or twice for good fun and by the next blink of an eye, i'll be out of sight, to never be seen again. Rough Draft finished, Finalized.. done.

"This Time Imperfect"
AFI

we held hands on the last night on earth.
our mouths filled with dust,
we kissed in the fields and under trees,
screaming like dogs, bleeding dark into the leaves.
it was empty on the edge of town
but we knew everyone floated along the bottom of the river.
so we walked through the waste where the road curved
into the sea and the shattered seasons lay,
and the bitter smell of burning was on you like a disease.
In our cancer of passion you said,
"Death is a midnight runner."
the sky had come crashing down
like the news of an intimate suicide.
we picked up the shards and formed them into
shapes of stars that wore like an antique wedding dress.
the echos of the past broke the hearts of the unborn
as the ferris wheel silently slowed to a stop.
the few insects skittered away in hopes
of a better past time.
I kissed you at the apex of the maelstrom and asked
If you would accompany me in a quick fall,
but you made realize that my ticket wasn't good for two.
I rode alone.
you said "The cinders are falling like snow."
there is Poetry in despair, and we sang with
unrivaled beauty, bitter elegies of savagery and eloquence.
of blue and gray.
strange, we ran down desperate streets and carved
our names in the flesh of the city.
the sun has stagnated somewhere beyond the rim of
the horizon and the darkness is a mystery of
curves and lines.
still, we lay under the emptiness and drifted slowly outward,
and somewhere in the wilderness we found salvation
scratched into the earth like a message.

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