There are things words can't accurately encompass. The early morning pangs of nihilism and existentialism are evident when someone stumbles out of bed and casts a weary, unwavering glance at their frost blanketed window. Nobody can string together a series of words to fully describe the transient whirlwind of an early morning routine and the phantom pitfalls that ensue in their stomach. But their red, rheumy eyes and seething cup of caffeine certainly can. A haggard stance and lopsided jacket tells neighbors more than enough about someone's burn out. And yet, they still pretend that nobody can notice it but their own self. As they trudge along the pandemonium of urban living, they don a flimsy smile that fools nobody. Nothing about it is genuine and when they interact with their clients, their pearly ivory smile almost beams blue.

In the same vein, body language can also convey a beautiful message that words can only aspire to do. The warmth that tokens of affections evoke are unrivaled. The sensation of a hug can't possibly be replicated in ink.

They say that your eyes are the window to your soul. No matter how guarded one might be, their eyes are very flimsy gatekeepers of their psyche. They inevitably soften when they gaze at something they love. When somebody is ecstatic, their eyes crinkle and then their face beams.

Sometimes, the people who say the least are the most expressive. Their body language is too honest.

You're a testament to this, through and through. It's quite funny because your stoic facade is very easy to get through. All it takes is ruffling your hair for your steely demeanor to collapse. A soft smile, flustered eyes and a light flush of red emerge. You're far from scary. In fact, you're just a big, soft teddy.

I'm afraid I may be the dishonest one here. My words are dressed to deceive. Each day, I walk through the spinning world in an intangible chamber of indescribable pain. A sunny smile and perky words paints me in an entirely different esteem. But nobody needs to know. I'd hate for my melancholic mood to dampen someone else's smile.

I press my ear to the ground

and listen to the

thunderous footsteps

of the man called here to "save me".

A saint they called him,

but he ain't no saint to me.

He pillages native grounds

and salts the very lands

that he tramples over

leaving a blazing trail of hate

sparked by his lust for innocent blood and hunger.

He is a man, no higher, no lower

but a figurhead of how many levels humanity really has.

And as he draws closer

the faint whispers of my ancestors before me

tell me that my time has come,

and i shall not fall to this false phrophet

that they praise as a saint who reeks of both

death and assimilation.

So that my people may prosper onward

and forever more,

Amen.

At least once, do tell a Lie

And see it twist the world around you.

Note how deceit is short-lived

So you’ll learn the Truth has value.

Then ignore all you need to do

And do all else that does not matter

Squander away those precious hours.

So you'll learn your Time has value.

Did someone make you punch a wall?

Punch their faces, spat your anger!

Allow bitter regret to leave you hollow,

So you'll learn Kindness has value.

There are terrors all around you.

Quiver in fear in your burrow,

Let the others save the day

So you’ll learn Valor has value.

While most lessons are forgotten,

The sins you pay for with tears and sorrow,

They will leave you marked forever.

They’re the lessons for tomorrow.

Because

Not until you've walked a mile

In a sinner’s shoes of lead,

Will you believe the truth and power

Of a saint’s holy creed.

I believe there are no sinners;

Only people who need to learn.

Thou shun away the bloodlust,

Or give in to deep temptations

No sinners scared to hide.

Whether you cave or break

When trouble comes near,

Thou shall not be forsaken.

Siren calls from far and wide

To slay the belly of the beast,

Destined for salvation.

Alas, the darkest demon cries,

Its clutch so strong and firm

Will break upon a distant swell.

Surrender to the nightfall,

For the moon and stars look on,

To guide you out of blackness,

To save you from yourself.

And are they saints if you burn them,

the piled wood beneath their naked feet?

They died for the faith, my teacher said in

catechism. She once berated forty

children for thirty minutes because

one chewed gum with the Eucharist;

she and her husband divorced, I heard.

Such is the way of the world.

She’s married in the eyes of

God, of course, like that woman I know whose

ex stockpiled firearms in a bunker and

forbid her to leave the house.

Marriage is a covenant, like Abraham’s,

the faithful servant who held the

blade to his bound son’s throat.

But that’s a saint, you understand:

they hear that voice, they obey;

they let everything fucking burn.