RadioactiveSamurai

These children scream of heartbreak these mothers die of shame these fathers smile with sinful pride these children sin the same. Horizons shatter every night so angels watch us wake. Our screams show what we're fighting for and what we're here to take. No one's righteous and we're all dead, but tonight we're here to claim a debt. This is how we fill the void that won't ever overflow, Run for shelter, run and hide, we're bringing down the sky. Scream for all the rabbit holes and the egos that looked away. Siege the castles of the suburbs to see our great walls sway.

The walls were waiting to be pretty. Their expanse of whites and greys begged to be violated. They were no canvas, but everyone knew that. There was no romanticism about this. They were just walls, walls to be written on, painted on, spat on, kicked, sat against. The walls were uneasy about the concrete pathway between them. The path was a whore, allowing people to kick it and run on it and laugh on it all they wanted without slipping off. A boy laughed in the distance. His voice bounced from surface to surface, an omen of happiness – an omen of moments. He dragged a girl along with him, just as he'd done since he learned how they want

The rain is machine gun fire my screaming substitutes a choir my nails etch the bitumen and strangers stop to admire me. I'm melodramatic, so polychromatic, architecturally not fantastic, imperfections, melting plastic, 'round my wrist sits a band of elastic. My fingers try to balance the planet, my head looks for answers and it won't find anything in this town, it won't find anything anywhere. I'm still too youthful to know these things, to appreciate it when my mother sings, my youth won't be wasted on me and I'm not supposed to know that I'm my king. I learned too much and I learned it too fast, my ship will drift in vagr

We never really believed in the afterlife but right now we stand in a line, and we chant out loud Please, angels, carry her softly, treat her gently, she's delicate, she's a flower, carry her like she's on clouds. Sixteen men stand in black suits with tears in their eyes, they salute and hope that they're wrong about life when they bid you goobye one last time. We were never ones for religion but we don't care right now. Just carry her up to Heaven, please, don't let her die for real. She just can't die for real. Oh, angels, just carry her off don't drop her, just carry her off. We're okay with being wrong about the world i

I used to be a romantic but romantics die alone so now I'm just a cliché a sinner and a song. Those days are over, the days of pissed-off damsels, but tonight's gonna end and we're all ready to leave. I'll show you the stars, the roses in the wind, we'll watch the sunset and then rewind to see it again, but I'm not a romantic not anymore, I just want you to think I'm not just a boy. Let the gods watch as I pretend to play guitar, I'm special tonight, a romantic tonight. Fuck it, we're all gonna die, fuck your trust issues and your ex-boyfriend, tomorrow we're all gonna die and you'll have wasted your last day.

Now I'm over the lonely nights. The silent rooms punctuated by my shitty taste in music can only be described as redundant. Enlightenment means nothing when all I ever do is sit alone in my room and be terrified to be sincere. I'm still scared to death of dying, and I'm still not over her, and if I knew everything I'd be able to leave my house. Wordsmith should be a valid occupation For the boys who've got nothing else to do. I'm still terrified of dying but if that's the worst that they've got bring on my cremation, let's set fire to something worth burning. Nothing's really changed but nothing ever does, I'm not gonna d

"So let me get this straight," she said, playing with the bottom of her curled, blonde hair. There were shadows in the parts that weren't bleached by the sun. "You're a writer, but you're not an artist." "Yeah," I told her, sitting on top of my notebook with a pen in my mouth. "Well, do you write songs? Lots of writers write songs." She reminded me of a child, a little, like there was this part of the world she didn't know about and she desperately wanted to know every detail, every nook and cranny that could hide a secret. "I write some songs, but they're no good," I took the pen out of my mouth just for long enough to speak, then replace

 "God?" "Yeah?" "What are you doing right now?" "Just chilling, I guess. Why?" "Well, there's this couple on Earth –" "Fucking Earth. None of them can give me a break down there. None of them! It's always 'give us this day our daily bread' or 'please protect my family from swine flu' or 'give my sister the strength to beat her heroin addiction'. None of them can do anything for them-fucking-selves." "... yes, God. You've made this rant several times." "I am aware." "Sure. Look, there's this couple on Earth and frankly they're having too good of a time." "Just give 'em a break, will you? We've terrorised enough people re