Beautiful Monster

Drawn and Edited by:  Randy Sturridge

Reaching and stretching, harder I try. 

Slowly, but surely,the farther I slide.

Chainsaws and bullets, I want you to die. 

Beautiful monster that lives inside.

Happy you make me, such a beautiful peak. 

Though never the permanent state that I seek.

Upward you take me, an invincible high. 

Beautiful monster, dare me to die...

Grenades and razors, and diesel fire. 

Beautiful monster, I slowly expire.

Skinned Sin

written by: heidi chester

Here you are, down on your knees again.
Crawling and bleeding and ripping skin.
You're dying but trying to breathe again.
But you’re smothered and covered, soaked in your sin.

You're pleading and screaming all apologies.
Your chanting becomes ranting and makes no sense to me. 
While you're reaching your screeching at me to see-
That it isn't yours, there is no you, there is only me.
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Here I am, down on my knees again.
Crawling and bleeding and shredding skin.
I'm dying but trying to breathe again.
Drowning and sinking inside my sin.

There is no you, there is no me, there is nothing here. 
There is no love, there is no hate, there is no fear.
Just silent screams, and empty dreams for no one to hear,
Bloody tears, no memories, souls far from clear.

Here we are, down on our knees again.
Sinking, no wallowing inside our sins.
We're crawling and bleeding just to breathe again.
Locked inside ourselves, in this private hell, stuck inside our skin.

Here we are down on our knees again...

No Release

Written by: By: Heidi Chester 8/26/2011

My eyes are open and instinct tells me I breathe.

Though I cannot be certain, I only feel it when I bleed.

My heart skips a beat, then pounds in my chest.

One more reminder, one more piece of me near death.

I have grown empty, and I do not feel distress.

There is no confusion, just inside a bloody mess.

There is nothing that can hurt me, so numb I feel no pain.

I tear myself wide open, searching for life inside my veins.

But I find nothing, no freedom, no release.

I cannot even feel remorse, for the lack of inner peace

I do not long or love, miss or wonder, nor seek the reasons why

I do not fear that I do not know just how I am alive.

I do not ask if it will end, or somehow disappear.

I won't survive if feeling returns. No, I much prefer it here.