Come back to me.

Return to me with the same ferocity you overwhelmed me with before.

You knocked me to my knees.

I nearly drowned. But I was happy.

I stood back up giggling, desperately trying to reclaim my footing.

Other fish swam by but I ignored them. I was mesmerized.

I let you wash over me.

I learned to expect you as you came and went.

Now I'm dry to the bone. The thirst you put in me you aren't here to quench.

Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink.

Come back to me.

Or leave me alone long enough to sink into the grains.

   The Great Purge (or Great Horror) begins in the Soviet Union under Joseph Stalin's order. 

The Great Purge was a campaign of political repression in the Soviet Union which occurred from 1936 to 1938.

   It involved a large-scale purge of the Communist Party and government officials, repression of peasants and the Red Army leadership, and widespread police surveillance, suspicion of "Saboteurs", imprisonment, and arbitrary executions.

In Russian historiography, the period of the most intense purge, 1937–1938, is called Yezhovshchina after Nikolai Yezhov, the head of the Soviet secret police, NKVD. It has been estimated between 600,000 and 1.2 million people were murdered by the Soviet government.

Take my hand;

it is not strong,

but it can lift you

from the dust.

Take my coat;

I know what it is like

to shake though

not from the cold.

Take my sleeve;

it has dried

more tears

than I can count.

Take my lead;

I can show you the way home

for I have trod

this road before.

Tears fall without warning

Myself I cannot find

Six o clock in the morning

So much is on my mind

Been drunk and high

Cannot kill this pain

But it's do or die

So I alter my brain

Reality has never been

so far away from me

Open my eyes once again

Yet still I cannot see

You may see a smile

but I feel a frown

Life is overwhelming

I try to get up but

I keep falling down

My sanity is rebelling

Trapped in mental distortion

Each breath feels like a crime

The lit flames of depression

Are burning up my time

The spiritual hammers of fate

Smashing me beyond disgrace

Dwelling on built up hate It's taking me to a new place

A place where all I feel

Is nothing but pure loneliness

And where only I am real

besides all the emptiness

Beating in me is a dying heart

It cannot take much more

It has been open from the start

So now I'm closing the door

.No longer knowing what to do

Away my soul will slip

No comprehension on what is true

There's nothing more to grip

So now I'm approaching dawn

And still I cannot sleep

Again the darkness is gone

And the alarm will pointlessly beep

Daniel

   J.     And my fucked up mind

Dabney

morality is as fragile as mortality.

the idea that we can maintain a level of humanness all while striving for the glory of goodness is unbelievable, unthinkable, so obscure a thought that we might as well have eve pick the fruit one more time for another lesson in curiosity.

the only thing men own is our savagery and our habit of romanticising it.

the theory of us: humans, faith riddled slabs of meat with a chip on our shoulder because the world manages to fuck up some way, some how, are officially going out of style.

face it, we're all last season so grab your black eyeliner and paint on the dead girl walking persona.

the theory of us: humans, minty fresh breath to match the outward coolness that sneaks up when we inhale more than we should have, gap tooth smiles that represent white washed diversity we accidentally let slip out of pandora's jar, are in no position to pass judgement when the person we leave it up to seeps into the shadows in the midst of atlas' unexpected resign from duty.

the balance between good and evil has tilted out of my favour and now i am in this personal purgatory.

the theory of us: humans, hypocritical creatures of constant retry that leaves us sinking in a river of doubt where we truly don't see the end of the rainbow because we took too long trying to understand why it shines more than our aura, our inner glow that's supposed to soften the outside world not make more beautiful, don't know a thing about true beauty because of the quest to find something postmortem and bring it back to life with pretty words.

the monster under my bed quit last week, even he believes the one in my head is enough for the both of us.

the theory of us: humans, wishes of clear skin and a heart that can withstand a beating, will only ever to comprehend things in first person because to look outside of ourselves requires one thing we do not own.

i thank you, prometheus,

hopefully you'll forever dance in the fire you gifted us.

- PANDORA AND EVE'S FOLKSONG [ alternatively titled the theory of us ]