The Death of Despair
Scardia
Copyright Š 2007 by Scardia No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the written permission of the author. ISBN 978-1-60643-282-2
This isn't a book of poetry, it’s a coming of age. It was not written, it was lived and bled. These words are of lessons learned, hearts felt, and of thoughts and concepts encrypted through metaphor. Within you will find wisdom and folly, love and hate, pleasure and pain. You will not come to a better understanding of the person whom wrote these words, you will merely become lost within his world.Henolongerexists,yetalwayswill.
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Contents 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19.
Direville 1 They 2 Drive In 3 Innocent Mind 4 Obscured Vision 5 Moment’s Mask 6 What’s the Problem Here? 8 Deep Defined 10 Conditioned Reality 11 Fool’s Proclamation 12 Recollection 13 Stubborn 14 Astro-Illogical 15 Crucified 16 Seven Miles High 18 Between the Lines 21 Orgasm 22 Flesh and Blood 24 Remorse for What? 26 viii
20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39.
Another Night 28 Skies Above 29 Neo Catastrophism 30 The Sun 31 Bucket of No Ones 32 Worms 33 The Silken Veil 34 The Third Pillar of Eternity 36 Bloodied Canvas 37 Shedding Skin 38 Dead to Rights 39 Self Retrieval 40 Tambourine 41 Necrotic 42 Bastard 43 The Violence of Freedom 44 Dearest Friend 45 The Lover’s Kiss 46 Thine Enemy 48 Cyanide Cyclone 49 ix
40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59.
What Remains 50 The Crimson Evening 52 The Wash 53 Straight Jacket 54 Plight of Light 55 The Lonesome Isle 56 Circus Maximus 57 Roadside Oblivion 58 Subscription 59 The Science of Sanity 63 In the News Today 64 A Parasympathetic Moment 65 Vice Versus 66 Slow Death 67 Dysorexia 68 Nostalgia 69 Brasileira 70 Radharani 71 Ear to Ear 72 Premonition 74 x
60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73. 74. 75. 76. 77. 78. 79.
The Fall 75 Charlie 76 Skyluke 77 Such the Case 78 Copernicus 79 Room with a View 80 Thirteen 81 Saint of Killers 82 The Artist 84 Rise 85 Destruction 86 Pumpkin Seeds 88 The Hermit 90 Bled Perspectives 91 Plastic Windows 92 Pathological 94 Pawndom 95 Preliminary Self-Accusation 96 Definition 97 Temple Octo Vulgaris 98 xi
0
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Direville Standing in a small one room pine lined house, a fire ignites and consumes the wall opposing a sole door. Within this blaze laughs haughtily a painted clowns face. As the flames lick and blacken the ceiling, the Mother then Father, casually remove their coats, so neatly hung upon the stained wooden dowels of a coat rack to the right of the jarred exit. A small child jumps frantically for his own coat, while fearfully peering back at the jeering face within the inferno, his grasps fall short. Abandoning his effort, the small child rushes out of the smoky doorway onto a concrete path and up a slight hill. Running along the path which is met at its edges with seas of bright green grass, he slowly catches up with the parents. He then sees the two greeted by a short brown haired man in a dark blue suit, white shirt and red tie. Facing the three, standing on the path in shiny black shoes with the grin of a salesman. He appears to be welcoming them to the paradise behind him. Continuing on to the stout buildings, up stairs and through glass paned double doors. Heels all clicking over the wine and white marble checkered floor. From this the child would frequently awake drenched in sweat and fear, relieved in a cool dark room, moonlight peering through a bullet rippled window to the sound of screeching crickets.
1
They The impervious word, how it remains applicable to those whom ascend us. The reasonable momentum in which we confine our fleeting dissatisfactions within such bounds, and placard them about the necks of such fortified servants. Universally, condescending in nature and tone, righteous in our placid blinding pose. And in prose, elegant and justifiable. Nonsense is the mark, seen only with open eyes, free from the delusions of selfhood. Truth be known, we are our own shadow casters. We create and display, rely quite heavily upon, that which we remain so fit to detract from, our wistful little evils. All the while, what would we be without them?
2
Drive In ! Read these words, look at each as a billboard. Focus on one and let it slowly become larger in your mind like you are driving up to it displayed on a movie screen. Why have you chosen this word and what does it mean to you? Go back to the screen, sitting in your car watching the word like a running real of film. What does it look like for the man in the car across the lot? Does it look the same from the front row as from the back? How will the film read to each set of eyes? What emotions will be bound to the various elements it might represent for each person? Are words nearly as complex as a portrait or a person? From eyes in a head in a body on the ground, perceived through a mind, through a picture. I see the words that make up a representation of what it means to be you. I make associations with your associations. I absorb the personality you project. Do you judge people? The way they walk and talk. Would your judgment be the same as mine? How does it change when experience is accumulated? When was your memory of someone most real? Will it be the same now, then some time from now? Is my version of someone we know real, or yours? Are they the same? What can a man know?
3
Innocent Mind Can you catch the shadow Along the broken wall Can you bear the silence It may be easier to fall Quiet side of windows Peering through the glass Gateways of timeless thought Will this battle ever be fought For the dawn its seeing hollow And the moon may always follow But not unless the wind has risen When all will hear but no one listen
4
Obscured Vision Moving forward at a tremendous rate Am I the master or victim of fate Can I know love if I do not know hate Should I have faith and lie here in wait Or trust in pleasure and crash through hell’s gate Where is the hope here, I feel it’s too late I’ve no choice but to devour the food on my plate I was created and thus I’ll create My death is the dust, which is blown from my slate Thy seed is my essence which slips through time’s grate Though soon he too will surely dissipate I beg to secure me in the loins of his mate What is this awareness we seem to propagate?
5
Moment’s Mask Trying to express this feeling Lying, staring at the ceiling Dying, in my mind I’m dealing One thing is for sure There’s no one who’s pure That reality has faded away Time is an illusion and moment wears a mask It’s all unreal! It’s desperate confusion Wild laughter and solemn tears Make me understand, I beg Knowing understanding mean desensitization Such a sad stream Small, only until second glance They stare from a flat dry land Freedom and Religion Random Confusion No one is free! Hello Fire Meet Desire
6
What you have heard sounds absurd Your vision must be obscured Time delayed Thoughts unweighed I believe you are afraid Your luck has run amuck watch out before you self-destruct So, my friends Here we are Laugh with me awhile Say you know Abandon your beliefs and superstitions Come close warm yourself in the glow of possibility Breathe deep the essence of polarity For here among the unobtainable Anything may be obtained I am not what I’m thinking I only know what I mean when I do I would like to be there when I die I do not want to be dead already
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What’s the Problem Here? It’s the spics and the niggers The white men in power It’s the blood thirsty sinners and the flesh they devour It’s the politicians running this town The pollution seeping into the ground It’s hard ons and fuck lucks The beggars and weather It’s the media, the mafia It’s every endeavor It’s the chaos, and the order It’s in the food that you order It’s whatever your choosing The lie that your using It’s what your eating It’s every beating
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It’s the police
The corporations
The head lice...
It’s your
expectations!
9
Deep Defined Quaint revolving purified infusion Oxygenated individualization Forward spiral dons confusion Altered egocentric creation Briskly bitter soft or sweet In marshal order famed the mistress To costly question the righteous flame Delectably contained Yet softly merging In all order and chaos Like fallen feathers Conceptually vast and vacant One miniscule moment I wed delight! Convictions all follow lucidly Risking the doubly blamed Devour sanctity and observation Subtly fired by all its currents Waking found the breaking lure
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Conditioned Reality These dreams mold the seams of this conditioned reality. Boxed off and carved out of the deception of time and want. Multiplied and fragmented, an elusive explosion of a dark cloud of nothing. Cloaked in a memory lost, some things became ill conceived, some things inconceivable. To the size and point of view, certain factors eliminate themselves in the expansion. The numbers roll on like the fall of a young girl down a rabbit hole. Dazed off in a trance of unforgiving spectacles, with ritual the feeding root that pumps nutrients through the bodies of such organisms. Now machines spew smoke and snow through a hidden forest to hide the path to freedom. The small creatures who once raced lively through the scene lie now still in their last actions, decrepit corpses. Lost to their senses and will. Silence numbs and darkens you.
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Fool’s Proclamation We sit here baffled on the throne of madness. By our wonder we are clouded in sadness. Our every action is by standard untrue, to the masters who sleep in tainted seas of blue. We crawled up out of our watery grave with slow progress. In our learned ignorance we made a home of bliss. This mass of baffled pretenders hold true to laws unseen. I will hold tightly to the silky robes of my savior, Lord Zero! With steady hand and tired eye, I keep a place in this land obscene. All the while, gestures of madmen quicken the minds decay And hold the mass captive with visions they portray So I keep my proclamation‌ I am but a fool!
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Recollection I will remember when I wake up from this dream, the ones I had to tolerate, and one by one obliterate, the blackeyed bastards whom crawled like insects beneath my flesh. If my recollection serves me well, I’ll double the blood and drink to my mortality. I’ve found no reason to stop this season in my relation to it’s somber cycle. My unconscious now flutters like the R.E.M. of my slumber. The sun gleams off the sea and blinds the eyes of the monster. So I rest! My being projects images of the bloody tortured souls, crucified upon telephone poles, staggered along a winding hellish road which leads on to the ruins of ancient cathedrals, gathered together by my constant repugnance. In the center of the dusty graveyard lies a throne where my savior sits, high above the scattered decapitations and maimed bodies unclean. My anticipation numbs me, slowly I become essence and merge with the foul stench which hovers like distaste above the elusive scene.
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Stubborn If wanted was needed, and needed was needless. Your shiny little purse mirror just might keep your head fed. If rational was determination, and determination was justifiable. You’d be half as determined, and justifiably reasonable. If delusion was temperament, and temperament was determinable. You’d be considerably delusional, and reconsider your vanity. If disrespect was inconsiderate, and inconsiderate was a shotgun. With a shotgun was aimed at your face, You’d still blow your fucking head off.
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Astro-Illogical Could it be a matter of science Could it be up in the stars Could all this where and why for Be the placement of Mars Could there be a recollection In each and every molecule Could the answer lie in numbers Is it soul the what that fuels Could there be a holy father Or a feed for only fools Do you need an explanation Will it settle all your rules Will you fill it up with money Will your stature pay the toll Can you find it in your company In every pleasure wholly deemed Just to find another answer That at best is only seemed There's no silence in your caravan No place that dust won’t settle There's a heaven for the cowardiced And a hell for those with mettle
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Crucified All come from one‌ divided and multiplied. Bound to a cause, like Jesus was crucified. Life is rhythm, a cycle unleashed. Your heart beats on and the days roll by. You are bound and gagged and bleeding to death. Rise up and suffer with pride, for you sin not in vain. Corrupted and helpless your shoulders bear the weight of every lost soul, damned to the chaos of pondering empty promises made by mad men long dead, whose laughter is heard through the vibrations in tears that roll down the blameless faces of babies, screaming their way into a life unreal. Let the light of dawn unleash a scream in you to shatter the glass panes of the cathedrals which house the rebel demons. They devour the sanctuary of solitude, their teeth sharpen in your flesh. Become thy Strider, whose bloodline is rich in stealth and cunning. I call to you, brother, to step forth and deliver the evil ones from the goodness they posses. Blind are the masses to the meaninglessness of this game that will cease not. Nor will the vultures fail to fill their intestines with the rapture who calls itself humble.
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All your wishes are contained in themselves. Your holy grails are mere mirrors that reflect deceitfulness. I detest you, your mind is so vain and shallow that it could not handle the limitations of your existence. Unsatisfied in knowing a cease will come, you created fiction beyond living. You cloaked it in white and called it almighty. Take a lesson from the lion. Woe is to you and all who tumble in the aftermath. You who are compelled, will be compelled. No one wins, we all fade and return to the knowledge which justifies our ignorance. Laugh now and heal the wounds of the slaughter, your limbs will not regenerate. You are elemental, You are a vibration!
17
Seven Miles High I’m sick, and dying. I know nothing of this disease. Not of its’ name, nor its symptoms. I am not eased into knowing its’ course of action or length of effectiveness. No dignified diagnosis eases my curiosity as to what is killing me. But please, let me assure you. I am sick, and I am dying. I’m lying on my back on a mile high rooftop where the edge is so tempting. I can see so far out into nothing until it fades into everything. And I don’t need this. This isn't a curse, or a nightmare, I’m not a role in a story. I’m nowhere and nothing all at once and it’s lonely. Power corrupts, what sick deeds would I lead myself into if I controlled more than my own hole and cage. I can gaze and growl and effect all that is in my sight, but my hands are not free to move that which matters. I’m at a loss, in a hell, and a prisoner of my own mind. That is my box, my strength and weakness. I am me as I am I, this and that and all and naught. Let us disappear. Go faster into blackness, deeper into pain, haughtier into laughter, and branded by the sane. How does one cope? You sicken me further, all those whom ease yourselves with breakfast cereal delusions. You who can stand on by and take the nothing, the ascent into a morning alarm. The riot for that quick fix and faster razor march. Subsiding one to spite the other These end spectrum mirrors, they devour us deeply and deeper into the slow cold fade of icy unaware. Give them the dope! The instant satisfaction of blood and hamburgers, the plastic bliss inside the happy meal. Flood their minds with the bubble gum that everything truly is, 18
something to chew! There is no distinction between a classic work of literature and a ten cent romance novel. You and your art, you can see more beauty in the frantic etching of a child and the sidewalk chalk that bewilders his feeble mind. Whose feeble mind is it? Who truly laughs? It’s nada, it’s bunk, it’s veil upon veil in front of your eyes, but without the ignorance, you lose any reality at all, and I cant decide what is better. I am the cure and disease! I am the pleasure and the pain. Is concern for nothing a waste of energy? Is masturbation right when the orgasm is so brief ? It’s misery and rotted flesh, and I’m stuck with the rerun. Everyone is a separate entity, yet we are all one expanding contraction/contradiction, one all at once. It is this division that multiplies. A damned grand distraction, with no real satisfaction. Let’s pretend further. Let’s be so serious about the absurdity. Religion and Politics and cunt girlfriends you'd sooner kill than fuck, yet fuck sooner to kill! You don’t get it, do you? We ask questions we know the answer to just to ask. We kill ourselves to live, and quicken our deaths to enjoy what is brevity in itself. How does one become satisfied, and what is this satisfaction? Give me the cold hole to crawl in. My belly aches and I hate. I will starve to prevent such nonsense. My rule is of itself. My throne was not handed to me, I only constructed this seat. The ground it rises up from was there when I awoke, it was here when I came-to. It will remain when I perish. When it crumbles, and a new god I become, a more wicked god. One with the power to infect the end game. Omega is just another shit heel, a lie and deceiver. A sympathizer of rhythm, a polisher of door handles! Where is that black powder recipe? 19
I will show you art!
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Between the Lines What idea binds blindly beneath fragmentation? Where seeks the eye free of interpretation? A vast and impermeable wisdom is known to only the clutches of the self. Faltered is the ego beyond the light of perspective. Illumination is the sultry passion of the vile and reasonless. Vast and vacant are the stumbles between the wise. Our Eon perpetuates only wrath between feats of greed. Feed ego the will to compromise beyond carnal atrocity. Blackened collections of potential progression. For the safely hoarded cultivation of control. Bonded permanence within the confines of secrecy. Necessitated meanings of reason chained. Deemed are the scepters of knowing, supremacy. Fragile is the shell of innocence, no revelation dare threaten. The puppetry of justice grasps the intolerable within leaden clutches. While feathery fingers linger beneath keys to the truest vision. Blind we remain, between unutterable peripheral. You turn the pages, you read the lines, you carefully consider each fragment. High above the tunneling limitation and collapsing shards, screams your holy specter. Worshipping the pages of liars... Love lies between the lines!
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Orgasm Radio static... Range control, this is zero, do you copy, over. Arriving from self indulgent bliss, Johnny checks into his room! Good evening empire, the broadcast persists... Did you keep yourself informed? Did it matter in gauged reference to the whole? Deep fried blood battered chicken heads! "Eat your soul, boy" Anger and frustration collapse my good intentions, rage and gut your pig fisted shone brutality... Make it real. We create our own lives. I want to kill my mother! Is it real? Where’s the parade? Gucci, Prada? I had an epiphany at Tiffany’s… To dip your face in gold! How bad do you want to cum? Behold! The carnival begins$ (Grand magistrate) Zero tolerance. Hate what you know not. Fear what you know not. Displeasure your emancipation.
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You are not real. This is not real. It matters not. Dreams are not only dreams! Carbon copied schematics. Employ your demise! A dream became reality‌ He put the pistol in his mouth. Dreams become reality. And prayed for forgiveness... The record player skips. The dog barks. NASDAQ drops one and a quarter! the comet etches closer. Breath deep. Billboard hits top. Frenzy inflames the riot. I laugh myself, to nimble completeness. I, think. I, just... came!
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Flesh and Blood Looking down between us, through the sweat and flesh, seeing the blood smeared up her thighs. It almost made me sad that she had to leave. It almost made the tears worth the blood left to let her go. And as they reach up to haunt you, the way these molded memories we seem to build upon fade, up from things forgotten.
All in all, with reason and logic projecting forward. It’s always the wise decision; it’s always the healthy move to make while keeping our stride, an eye on pride. They subside, they settle down to the bottom like filth in a river. The sand creeps over, the bodies decay, the flies and maggots pick the bones clean and you’re able to move on. You’re always there to break your back with the hill before you.
Rewired and upgraded, blades sharpened and objectives redefined! Bringing new distances from the armor to flesh, from acid to blood. Mercies are the claim stubs to vulnerability, they tell me. Call to will the one whom greets you, the voices echo. I’ve been trapped down there before, a maze not to return to.
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The cold and water, the stench and rats. The insects to greet you. Never! Never we declare, yet somehow you’ll return again. Its human, it’s a part of the infection. You love it just to allow yourself to hate. You breathe it just to choke a little longer. They won’t find the bodies! They always stop looking. As long as you keep feeding them new ones, they don’t have the time.
Swine and wine, just like swine and wine. They are not different from the holes and caves, not so much an inch deeper then the rotting corpses. You bleed them all to death the same. Onto suffocation, onto new and informal breeds of hate and hound. It’s all that’s left, the Emperor whispered as he retired on that faithful eve.
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Remorse for What? Suicide is a fool’s card. It is the climax of the all consuming self obsessed, depressed. It confirms ones nature, self aggrandized. The way the universe was created around our earthly species. The way god found himself lonely, creating tiny little monkeys to worship his benevolence, to love him truly for himself. For added entertainment purposes, he made a hell. He promised damnation for those who didn’t see things his way, because he knew you wouldn’t read between the lines or think for yourself. But don’t fret, he only made sin inevitable so that you could scrub yourself clean in the blood of his only begotten son, to be forgiven eternally, lips returned to his savory nipple. He didn’t have to show his face, he could have you wield fear in its place. It's the devil’s fault you know, it's the violence of masturbation! I’d like to thank evolution. No, not Darwin! Never the scientific approaches. Never give over invisible laws to the ones based on those tangible. They’re both mad doctors, who lose as you do at the end of your path. I thank progress, I thank the unstoppable force within us to grow and evolve, whether realized or not. However sublime or ironically diverted, its no coincidence. The old hard laws become modernized, soft and pliable. Fed lies so sweet in the name of god and nation, liberty and the flight to enslave through the diminishment of rights that were only once necessary, before the invention of social engineering! Go out and have a good life. Be a success, because you’re a genius! You can do anything you put your scared little mind on. There are fleets 26
of luxury homes and vehicles, marked up at 100% cost waiting for you to owe your life to owning! Don’t forget to have children along the way, we always need fresh meat for the grinder! None of it matters! None of it carries me up out of knowing that we are gods. Knowing that the collective unconscious is “god”! Knowing that each of our lives is a point on a great star, and that we are all inwardly connected. We know the truth within us, we know all that ever was and will be. We are a model of god! God divided, experimenting with possibility, entertaining our self, masturbating if you will. Every myth has truths! Uncanny little metaphors that give you this feeling of exaltation when you realize them. They were made by man, but they come from god. True god, infinite, snakelike and endless. There’s a rhythm between creation and destruction. Everything is everything, and it lives and breathes at war with itself. Self-centeredness is the basis of our existence. This dream we dream.
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Another Night A blackened window The wall all around tainted shades of white Chips and holes and blinds not drawn A brief echo from an unknowable world The safety of the glass Why pass by any longer? Why sit in anticipation, While reflection interacts and bounds Soft wings flutter in and become trapped By another sweetly similar comparison
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Skies Above If I could wear my sorrow like a mask it would reach the sky above me. It would be terrifyingly beautiful, and you couldn’t look away. It would take you up and halt your blood in its path, your heart would freeze but you would not die, you’d be sustained. But I wear my pain like a smile, and I grin ever wide, as I reach the sky above me. With a laugh and quick wit, I’ll show concern, and I care, and you always look away. As near as I could hold you, as love as I would show you, it grows ever hollow. While in the moment your troubles cheer me, they distract me, from my own. But there’s a million masks of bearing, a trillion burdens bared. With crying eyes and shimmering smiles, haunting the skies above us. And it takes me up and halts my blood in its path, and I cannot look away. For every empty condolence, there lies beneath a river of tears. And once in a while, I smile for real, I laugh a little and die inside. And when the moments follow, refreshed by the bitter wallow, embraced in self. I gain my breath again, the hearts chip and warm and beat once more. For all the shattered fragments reflect the same broken mirror, and its all the same again.
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Neo Catastrophism There in the prism Upon primary colors There is a principal A mathematical sequence Formula or convulsion? Will you die to live... or live to die? Heed the composer Orchestrator of delusions The market of willful apprentices Complications of computations Mirrors for the clumsy fisted Your decision was initiated Easy trigger, however clear the aftermath Long live your blue blood!
30
The Sun Resting so neatly His head on the cross Dangling Dementedly untested While a love so temperamental Trickles downward With last left breaths While bled to death The father and the son As the whole of the tempest Expands with dawn’s unrest The mother wept beneath To better keep Your bitter sleep From dreaming of the whole As fragments shelter The truest vision The blood even The holy son
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Bucket of No Ones No more whispers of prisoners Whom dare not decipher Careless listless listeners Far distant pretenders I seek not to know you As you beg in your mindlessness Vacate and dematerialize You apparitions of being Born dead you barely breath In all of love divine encountered You are none deserving
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Worms While the seams seem unbroken, not a stitch may remain. With a fist full of Jesus, it's old Luke keeps me sane. For the eyes of the children are the bellies of blame. On to necks godly broken, by the justice of fame. When the operative chosen, is the blunt of the bane. For a mindful of hopeless are so eagerly maimed. It’s the box full of hocus that has centered our wane. And as the progress delivered is the greed that we claim. Not a regress even slivered, as our minds feed the chain. Now no cages are needed, though our binds will remain. Through the token unneeded, we will sorrow our drain. While the warning unheeded is the death of your brain.
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The Silken Veil Another song with a little bit of meaning One more moment free and there to be lost in What is it saying today What am I reading into it Nothing makes enough sense to act upon I just may be a filter What can a man know This human story It’s a scary thought to think Some sort of sick at its’ every turn I see a masquerade of divine comedic tragedy I hear something of advances in technology Something of science and a bit of art Alex had a library God’s men came to town and burned it to the ground But what does that tell me Nothing is as nothing I judge the hands of gods Through the eyes of a god While bleeding for those I despise I'm lost in a maze that I create Quite like your own I don't see what I don't see just to see what I do Solitudes a bitter company Lest we forget to know thyself Pagan deities and other sculptured companions
34
Shadowy whispers while I walk at night Every crack in the wall screams and demands Behind a veil held by hidden hands
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The Third Pillar of Eternity I am as perplexed as clear sighted. As divided as united. I think, and I feel... These are not the same! You are as shameless as exalted. As endless as halted. I destroy, as I create... These are quite the same! Its been as amusing, as confusing. I know, while I forget. These do not separate! I am as creative as destructive. As honest as deceptive. I live, and I bleed. These things are quite separate! We are as foolish, as blind. As forword as behind. I forgive, I must be forgiven. These things are life and death!
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Bloodied Canvas When the lights come on inside As I wake my bitter side In the morning by the sun Will it be a better one Its all so tragic in the fire Wanting all that's not for hire I can see my careless game Will it always be the same Is this moment there to see Will I watch it while I'm me I have faltered just to fall I don't see myself at all I could have you take a ride So you'd face the deep divide But every canvas that I bleed Seems to know the face I need Just to bargain for the day That I might stop and find my way Through this distance in between At the cost of all I’ve seen
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Shedding Skin The moment gleams in its’ perpetual oneness with infinity. Love of life and of living, and the exalted acceptance of reality in hues of truth and gratitude. The twins unite as reverberations of brief realizations of thy own connectedness with the all. Whilst a knowledge of the base and infantile self-deceptions we dream within, an unearthed discrediting of the morose and spite driven lunacy, that hands base and guttural epiphanies out on silver plated perspectives. Caution sheds self delusion, all the while the paupers tread the same golden spiral. The wind burnt seekers still pursue the unattainable through the beckoning of ancient deceptions. Outlearn the master magicians and be ignited in the peril of knowing. Bliss corrodes like white metal flashes, so progresses the blind woman's hand The scales of justice remain nil and void. Radiate this love and bleed its’ permeations within you. Their lies no ties to paths of escape, seek not freedom, it lies within, and will not appear to a slave.
38
Dead to Rights Days into nights of fight or flight Dead to rights So tired A ramble with plights Echoes of tasks that bask all masks Bounced and cast So wired A mangle with asks Seams in thought within bought and sought Carried and caught So expired A tangle of onslaughts
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Self Retrieval This moment’s bliss engrained in pain Atoned a kiss no longer chained Forced to find myself again That sad smile in ripples kneel The only while worth knowing feel The gently mad will always heal No stone to skip the ripples fade While on his hip the last parade In spite of make for one who’s made
40
Tambourine Hysterical tears scratching under the bathroom door. Father wont explain why he won’t come out any more. Needle holes and droplets of blood boil beneath my flesh. Each moment I live is a line of twine creating a net of mesh. Forever the filter in a flow of Scars while memories fade. Those moments clung to are the soldiers in a death parade. Always marching over graves through bitter folly all the same. Dead hands reaching through the ground while calling my name. Slowly vision faded from crystal pure to gloomy shades of green. Rose petals fallen to the guttural clutches of this iniquity unseen. Cradled in morbidity while quivering gently through insanity. A shelter from agony clung to in mortification of a horrid reality.
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Necrotic The Third mask of the triad reveals itself As a dread card is turned by a trembling hand A step is taken into the living black hall of a peculiar new dimension There remains only true self within this enclosure of blackened air The smell of death and fear encroaches the moments of submersion Traces of sulfur painfully sear the memories with horrid disillusions Visions shatter his breath and fill his lungs with dust as he crashes to the floor Flashes of being buried beneath the piling of rotted flesh by work of unseen hands Only the distant sounds of a painful sobbing bring him to consciousness A frail sallow voice that warms a black and frozen heart
42
Bastard Spitting at the rotting flesh of the weak dead. Knees ache in the floor of the coffin by forsaken hips. Stare into his eyes, bleed the last tears of forgivenesses. Grace the face of pallid eternal rest. Tracing fingers over the jaw of breathless past. Reflecting eyes stare back in hollow contrition. Letting the dust settle, the worms set in. I say goodbye to a beast that stole my soul. And though I loved him dearly, despite the misery he caused, between little lessons far and few between. Sunday readings through highlighted text, that never saved him. How could they ever save me? I slam the deteriorating coffin shut. Smear the dirt over the ancient etchings. Such a distinct sound, the dirt covering those painful initials. Ironically...
WAC
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The Violence of Freedom First you must fight Shed materialistic delusion Preoccupy oneself with advancement Relearn discipline Realign your course of action Here is now and yesterday is gone Only the present dictates the future You have been awakened, yes But you are falling back asleep There is a figure in your mind A bomb to be exploded Walls to be torn down And plans to be spoken It is nothing personal No delusions to elude this possibility Just a round in the chamber
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Dearest Friend Once upon a head of mine I could take you for a ride Bleed you dry and set you free In a second left to guess it If it's in a fault of mine I'll blame it on the inside Of all the moments left in me The action leaves disorder Let it in then let it out Lose your will to swallow It's not a second guess to test No cause to wilt or wallow On the day I lost my mind I kissed the face forgiveness Tried so hard but to deny I found a friend who let me face it
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The Lover’s Kiss Good sleep, woke up late Swept the best, a test of fate Ritual concludes, a moment’s rest He smiled while thinking, all is best The dawn of bleeding, sad conclusions The disenfranchised, self delusions All is one, the prime beginning This realization, is free from sinning We flee from horrors, cold and shallow All alone, we tear and wallow Freedoms beast, is vision learned With none another, were slowly burned The fire is hollow, shared with none Seared and broken, a devil’s fun While paired and holy, we seldom see The blatant cries, of wings that free From salted wounds, we cringe yet fade One holy moment, through time we wade The pain is weakened, drowned in bliss The art of knowing, a lovers kiss They may be far, from understanding To doubt known best, is under handing The hands to hold, to push when needing The mouths so bold, are also feeding The bond is weak, needs comprehension To expect it fully, is apprehension My doubt is nil, I'm given truly You’re not alone, 46
I need you dually Un-comprehended, each at times Forever tasting, different wines There is not one, a bitter sour Those grapes are sweetest, cries the hour To walk in hand, and learn this knowing It is to me, privy to showing Those bolted faces, with wants and needs Secret agendas, from which I heed It's you I trust, I seek to encounter The truest knowledge, a lifetime to foster
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Thine Enemy Somebody's going to die somewhere Someone's got to die Death doesn’t have to try nowhere Death don’t need to try Somebody's going to cry somewhere Someone's bound to cry
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Cyanide Cyclone Vitamins and minerals Solids liquid gas Consequence and criminals It all will come to pass Carnivals and seminars Wormwood and despair Wars and doors and genitals With or without hair
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What Remains Woke up today on this mourning With a dawn in the light of hope I wrung free my bloodied hands And cast the scarecrows off my back Wrenched down the bile for the last time Liquid pure and sold to sooth I washed myself away Like a clearing in a valley of thick wood Dusk in the heart of salvation No more swine and wine No more bad times Just molten lead and hungers fed Cause and motion Consummations Freed the burdens in my head You cannot see the dread I’ve left you You cannot splinter your broken crutch Lapse not nor enter mine upon you Foreboding sounds that only taint me Crash upon an empty ear Tarry not nor dance nor linger Dare yea naught contain while bitter Unmask your ash to spill my blood While once the frowned hast hid their daggers Once the traps had all been set Your thoughtless winter bears upon you Bleached and burnt by a beckoned sun Your fuel to be filed and forgotten 50
Your cold and ugly all as one And none but only you could save you With fragile fingers pulling nervous triggers The hole is the one, The bleeding son The crucified with poisoned Father Bred to bask a dream lit none Bled to carry an empty cask
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The Crimson Evening Trying to remember Exactly what had happened in November An attempt then to decipher Though the memories erase While the wind blew in a window What the pain knew only I know Behind the curtain of my face All the leaves strewn as the rain fell While a crow flew like a witch spell Through a deep sky Into darker shades of gray Then the sound came like a gunshot What I did know now I know not But I'll never be the same
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The Wash Once is lived though once alive While once she lived he once survived The feeding fed the shame that thrives Like shadows cast reflect comprise And one betrayed had trust once lies When once dismayed now cut those ties As games of pain inject like spies The shadows live behind such eyes While once the lack no question tries Now every crack will spell demise Then lived in cloth so staunch reprise Has wrapped its wearer to despise Not trust nor faith no love to raise Such whore is but of meat and glaze As once your world of flesh and praise Binds deconstruction of your maze As all of this is left to craze The writing of our final plays When once you touched as once your days Became as numbered as the rays The sun has shone and shown such ways To warm himself as fires blaze
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Straight Jacket May I ask of your desire Where does lie your empire Say you privy to a shadows cloud There within the sun aloud Knee deep in future’s past You do not keep the slowest fast Mock this present currents fate Lock not this essence... putrid gate Are you burning Stars are churning Careful to cultivate Spare full to humiliate Sing a song my dearest boy Clinging wrong your fearful ploys Dare the orchestra project a pattern Spare the fool, protect... and madden
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Plight of Light I just wanted to say I know you don't listen anyway But if it’s any consolation I take my ears into consideration I am not a man of brands of worth Nor am I here to glorify my birth Its not a quest of my intention To test each thoughts expression I just wanted to let this out I know we glisten through our doubt Despite the clouds that block the light The sun eventually peers without a fight
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The Lonesome Isle A long time ago, on a lonesome unpopulated island in the South Pacific, there lived a single human being. He had become weathered by the lessons he had to learn to survive in the environment he had come to call home. When at last the people whom once knew him had finally come to seek him, they were but strange invaders, and aliens to his present world. And as he hunted the strangers, and as he cooked them alive in his beachside fire, they understood but only while breathing their last breaths, their flesh crisped, blackened, peeled back, and devoured. So with a full belly the man lay on his back peering into the heavens, and was lulled to sleep by the familiar sound of crashing waves.
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Circus Maximus Neophytes, blinded, line the clay brick sun-drenched walls, and fearful. Coming judgment tenses eyes and tempting cleanses through pretenses. Blood enclosed circumference, soldiers flood the staggered arenas immenseness. Screams rage and cry as vengeful eyes tremble the earth and reaching skies. Plasma pierced rusts the moments lust. Steel moans a jagged convictions fierceness. Wet sand marches past content voyeurs. Amassed and parched, gaunt breaths breathe last. No sin through deeds, heedless judge thy threadbare mores, no witch nor whore.
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Roadside Oblivion There's a hole in my head Where out bled all the things that I've said And there is just no proverbial knowing From which all provincial standpoints are showing But if it means anything to you I'll fly my flag at half mast for you too And when you find that your leg of the road Leads back to the same fork from which you carried your load Just know that I too will be out there resting on my cases Surviving on the laughter in between the heavy spaces Cause every now and then a man will realize He has to loose his heart to know just where it lies
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Subscription He didn't notice Or subscribe to such beliefs He was transcending Walking in the pale heat Within the sun’s glare And then in shadows Into new dimensions Feeling like electricity Becoming barely visible Everything translucent Stepping through his ego Into a state of non-ego A frail sallow breathed demigod A timeless ghost Freed by acceptance Quantified by denial He stepped through walls And became pale Stone cool and mossy damp Splintered basement ceilings Listening to footsteps Dust falling through his arms If you looked you couldn't see him But he will always be there Drag your knuckles across fences Your naked feet in slow rivers The green canopies of shade The sun-beaten pavement 59
He was expanding The trail of blood behind him Blue and yellow poison The blue jay on the tree branch The paint peeling off the wall The brick revealed from beneath You'd never notice You'd never subscribe to such beliefs Milk and Honey Its not the devil there is no devil Blamable scapegoats Instincts exist Nature proves Self denial Self repression Causing psychosis Preachers and alter boys Bible belt Atrocities Violence persists Society verses tendencies Buried in psyches Reality versus fantasy Intelligence versus psychodrama Dogma loses Fear loses Murders happens Rape happens To good people By gods people Where is the devil? 60
Where is god? Hidden behind symbols Refusal to recognize Blissful ignorance Slothful logic Spoon-fed beliefs Questioned nothing Evaluate nothing Examine nothing Filed in lines Tickets to paradise Chanting hymns Sinful confessionals Blood and bread Holy wars Death Galore Over belief Dogma Persecution Dogma Genocide Dogma Money Dogma Power Dogma Greed Dogma Dogma Dogma President 61
Dead! Government “Evil” Outwardly Christian Faux Facade Shadow Lies Accepted Change ...
Never
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The Science of Sanity Cut to the clean Carve out the doubt Left to the wasted Would you still cry if I stopped laughing? There is no validity No room for lingerers Languid and cheerful
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In the News Today Headlines are head lines. Like the starling face you use to manipulate your desires. Deep down there's a well of perversion and complexity. Alienated ideas held hostage by bitter ideals.
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A Parasympathetic Moment Despite peace or turmoil Winded creaks lined by sunlit shimmers or hidden stars The relevant bodies all spinning and vast Peculiarly reverent chance Painstakingly calculated mistakes Spanning centuries and ages However darkly apparent However falsehood the fuselage These gravitational centers we sail bound to What is an ocean? There in my cells and skies There in our collection of antiquities The mass and mindful moments we reach from I envisioned other buckets Fresh pales of pools and Newton's Wherein we fell upward Chased and hunted the problems of bounded nothing The triumphant steeds bearing the tightest blinders Like childhood revelations The freeing of burdens and losses of innocence Feeling your back in the mud and eyes flinching between fiercely falling raindrops
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Vice Versus If I could get around this world On all that's proper and impossible While just coping the unfurled With every pompous and implausible Then I'd be happy as a rat Swimming off an oil wreck But I'm not And people keep showing up Like billboards on this highway Though I'm half as stranded as insane There's just no telling them from angels At all the right angles From the demons
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Slow Death Everyone came up from the basement for some air on break. Tweedy, Paulo, Heron and the bunch. All sweaty and grease stained in the moonlight and cigarette smoke. Heron bangs his oversized wrench against the metal railing, breaking the silence amidst the glowing nicotine orbs. Paulo kicking the gravel. “Fuck,” Tweedy screams. “I really can’t take this miserable shit hole for much longer,” he says. “What are you going to do, bad ass, join the fucking circus?” Heron rasps, as he drops and stomps out the remains of his smoke. Paulo swings open the heavy rust ridden door, taking a last drag and flicking the orange glow into the night. “You’re trapped like the rest of us and were all fucked, Tweedz. Let’s get back to our gallows before devil dick notices we’re gone and has our asses,” he says and steps heavily down the steel grate steps with the thick heel of his boot echoing rhythmically out of the door to the stairwell as it slams behind him. Tweedy stares at the stale yellow light coming through the small square wire grids of the smash proof window. He kicks the door open from the bottom, and steps grudgingly down the well.
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Dysorexia Cautiously quick, within most sullen fires Compelled in and by dreams, lurid desires Withered and torn, between leaden attired Drawn out and bled on, scarred and conspired This warfare of purse strings complacent misdirections Though moments of combat displaced these infections Have brought here a sadness, unshakably confected And slipping in crevices, disdained and misdirected Completions through seasons Dawned as defiled Whisperd and lingerd So nauseously compiled Noxious and wrenching Desensitization Illumined or delusion Solace or brazen
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Nostalgia Poised intentions within Ominous Co-regulatory junketing benefactors. Pressman all wavering hallucination within grips of black and ash runoff. Smearing poisonously upon its flinching finger flags. Pious puppeteer stumbles from catchy jingle hailed associations. Wanton memorabilia boxed and shelved onto plaid new neurosis. Skirt in wind like those disposable second chances all flushed forgotten. Reasoning with seasoning two hundred and fifty slow cooked bastardizations. Complete the means to speculate such frolic onto adrenaline saturated crystallizations. Embalming fluid might sweeten ambiguously sought after sugar wafers sad submersion. Copacetic cheeses pungency deliberating a cream cushy coating of yeast lipped puckering. Smells all floating a breeze to seethe the rotting tides of winds and broken limbs reaching. While outreached the hand now trembles to the signs of friendly crouton crepitates. The potent underestimated understanding of the cucumber to become the pickle.
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Brasileira She had sarcophagus earrings And a red letter pendant She drove fast in the rain But held faster to remnants I had to overcome a few impossibilities Many worthwhile precautions To endanger possibilities She came as enlightenment Raw and as light in life as living She was so young for me And I so sad and tragic Black as chard and overly dramatic But she was fresh and fervor And so eagerly pleasing While as bitter as broken And hopeless to hoping She breathed down my thoughts And ended the choking Little saw we the folly Through and well until Eventual folly becoming so little Learned and we mastered War and poisons all plastered Alongside no immunities created A perplexing remain of unseparated
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Radharani Blue bird black bird Slack and purple hearts Wind blown tree tops Nest all torn to parts High perched, song searched Nestled in a row Beaks blown squeak known Ruffled to and fro Wretches reckless Fly away in song Go sell in a bordello The haughtiness that you long
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Ear to Ear Mesmerized by the sound of the hot air Meeting the cold in the dusk ridden sky Trees peer in through the window The shade is drawn half open When I walk home from the train When I’m riding in its cars Peering at skylines I realize Tainted it may be I wallow in a mist of positivism The bitter kiss of realism keeps my feet in the filth Piss and shit stained peripherals Dragging my feet through it Wringing out my socks in the evenings I’m just a seed in a garden A baby in a play pen Roasted peppers and pacifiers No ray of sunshine to squint to Maybe a chameleon I might not like your ways I certainly don’t need your euphemisms Yet I can tell you how to sell them In a pretty bottle With just the right label
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I’ll assure you, you’ll find the target market As I return to my footsteps With anticipation of Autumn’s children Carve me a Jack O’ Lantern Bleed me a sonnet I look again and the suns gone The breeze rushes through And the cool air meets a stiff grin
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Premonition Walking down thirty six What is this my vision fixed He passed on my left Love in my hand on the right My periphery digesting the side of his face Heart sped and visions raced The young girl he violated and misplaced My left arm chilled with hair on end He left her no right to defend Perhaps I’m as mad as tall But looking back his walk said it all What could I have done or said? A blade to mend her empty bed Or was it all just in my head?
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The Fall I can feel my beloved Autumn in the air The chilly mornings and gloom The dying spectacles Pumpkins carved Sweet indeed The smells Death Life Zero Solve Waning Revolution Like train doors Someone must get off To make room for fresh riders Tides of lives that balance our existence
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Charlie Yellow on brown, the fool was no clown A pension for pain and a fist full of knowing Seen it all through a crack in the wall The musk and muck in withered dusk Limelight all tangled in despair The hair that tipped the scale Tarried blame bled in pointed fingers He’s there but will not linger
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Skyluke Have you fulfilled your destiny? There is no differentiation As is life Death is as much illusion If you have not made the realization You are dead already When in truth Perhaps only in death And breathe again for the first time Until you tire One stale breath upon another Breathe! Only when you lose something completely will you appreciate it fully Deviate the I from your own dimensions Complacency may elevate your apprehensions All the while not wanting Can you sigh and smile From the dreams that create them Can you elevate your visions
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Such the Case Confusion, being My Epitaph A rattle in my cage Has never lead me anywhere Save a war to wage These trysts and Lists Confined me in A latch hook game of tag Was I before or quite behind? Always I seem to lag I shan’t assume Save, I'm a loon A birdie in a bin For curtains one’s camaraderie That I shall never win But if I knew not brevity Than I would never sin The lofty listless hegemony The teetering of I Has festered my allegory And left me such a sty
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Copernicus Alleviating judgment and evaluating dignity Where is the folly of flight, day or night? But what is this you deem in day You dream at night you say And none at all Are as one Both forward and behind Within Rhythm and its principle The beginning, the end, one in a breath In a sea of translation, we drift meaningless
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Room with a View It’s been a constant theme A question of the epic sort On inconvenience The clash of perspective I fail to portray beyond metaphoric reference A simple key Universal and unfailingly applicable Perhaps I am exalted Who inconveniences Who Who conceives?
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Thirteen Look, oh look! It’s a cat on a bedspread Writhing his toes and twitching his nose Is that a grit of kitty litter? Patter and purr, life’s such a blur Is it cold outside? I hear the wind howling A lack of warmth to leave the heart yowling Come inside, look a bit deeper There’s always a glass, but the wines have been cheaper I see you there in creepers Standing outside my house, in that blouse Turning my pages, like the gentry of ages I’m just a mouse in a house Squeaky and carouse What a louse, but I’ll be here In proper misery and fits of cheer Whether near, or however far Reading grimoires and peering at stars What a lovely world it has been Full of ravishes and a healthy grin Oh the joys I find, in this head I’m in
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Saint of Killers Blood red rose beds Drippings of withered crimson Drying within weathered cracks Etched and Eternal A veil for every mind spell Nails and monuments in rows Clouded gray skies rolling Howls of wind breaking the nullifying rains A trail of boot prints in the puddled mud Somewhere a bride cries A man’s head folds in trembling hands Children splash and laugh unbeknownst Train smoke stretches across a dreary horizon Deals are made, men are broken Drunkards stagger through the dirt Shots fired within ears range Blood is shed Documents are postmarked and sent Carried in hemp sacks on galloping backs Weary eyes fall Screams echo through tiled halls Suicides and secret meetings Plots reaped as sown Confessions in hallowed boxes Ivory trinkets franticly buried under a willows branch The thread of time wavers on Dust settles
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Young bones grow old and creak Lovers swept off in forbidden trysts A stalker lurks in a blind alley Sharpened blades dulled in flesh Missing person parchments tacked Moonlit gazes into bare branched silhouettes Black before a starless night sky Shivered and distraught Wick lit floor boards Bones beneath Uncovered beyond the century of search parties Youthful unuttered discoveries Morbid beginnings Vile upbringings A new killer is born A Saint is made
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The Artist As if lucidity was some noble cause to stand behind. Upright while dreaming, looming yet immobile. Moving things within his sphere and beyond. The center of some Christmas globe, shaken. Particles all absurd and revolving. Isolated but not confined. Each breath a revolution. Every moment a blackened conspirator. Shattering restless idolatry, dead and decaying. Bleeding through his eyes. Seething through the needled holes in each mask he dons. A poisonous ghost, inapprehensible, unchangeable. Universal truth wrapped in lies. Choosing his veil and wearing it well. A clock tower illuminated against the night sky, the moon. A rule of eternal measure.
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Rise The rain and wind and coldest breath Lest I not defeat death No sun and scorn Lovers born Deviled and torn Within a sullen lured pyre Despotism cures desire Disenchanted in each fragment Letting go of sentiment Embracing rudiment Frozen boned to subtle cures A pirate within lofty mores Carcasses starkness staunchly drained A martyr drowned, defamed Abatement as it rained
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Destruction You asked and shall receive A penance for your ways I have no guilt, no shame I will not hold remorse nor regret Your destruction wilunfold Cursed as the bile you are Filth Grace I have shown you Undeservedly Blindly Now I can see And I will watch As you unravel And disintegrate Into dust I am not broken I have grown wings And I shall fly Beyond the shame you have chained me to Above the plummeting you doomed Crass and despicable You can worship lies to mask your shame Gone I’ll be The same Cleansed and deranged Estranged I have gained the self I betrayed for you 86
I am risen Enlightened
You are hollow bones Deceased
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Pumpkin Seeds Slit wrist pricks and the Crucinflicted Your heads are dipped Boxes and cages all the rage Life on a leash What a peach Razor cuts soaked in lemon juice Broken bones and needled nerves Bleach in eyes through a dropper You’re given to be battered proper Calloused livered severed retinas Defaced, literally Piteously Fit to be careened At the end of a rope By a primer black 56 Chevy On fire If I had a castle There’d be a dungeon A wall full of death beds Strung up and still bleeding Barely breathing
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I’d keep you living Pin holed and Bile soaked Twitching I’m so grateful See past the hateful My little pumpkins I adore thee I’d gorge thee Twist off patellas Pull string intestines My little puppet monsters Let me love you A nail bed to shove you Fumed rags for meat bags No one above you
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The Hermit Who left the fool chained in a small bathroom in the cellar? There was no one to be found in the house. Everything left as if the place was simply vacated all at once. Dishes in the sink, food in the fridge, clocks stopped on the walls. All covered in dust and time. A frail old man frozen to chains on a wall, in a decrepit old cellar. The scent was of brine. Particles dancing in beams of light streaming through the tattered windows. A cold lone house buried in trees on a mountainside.
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Bled Perspectives Behind the cannon fodder The wick lit burnt and churning Faster into alabaster Caught on down range Isn’t it strange What lies in the details Flies with wings frail Sentiment deranged Hard wired attire This waking audition Not every moment’s a test There is no intermission overload Shadows and flame may bleed Heeding the wrong image Within porcelain percentages Con games and quick lips Death deals and spent chips Armed to the teeth within sullen allure How fragile the spider’s web We’re all so cautiously content
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Plastic Windows Willed as in movement Subliminally disenchanted Prone within convalescence Quieted like sullen children Bourn of the dismembered Concealed in a fold of wool Passing blame like crack pipes Resilient resolve To humble then confine The motion of extremity This robe of common don Entailing such undertones Of captious preliminary virtues Reeking down amongst the mundane Purposeless and bled bathing In this crimson basin shining Screaming into the smiling void Bashed hypothesis Give them then no motion No inch to scratch the itch
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Don’t bitch I’ve heard it all before Wing pigs and the furious Ants on an ant farm Transparency
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Pathological It’s the weather And the seasons So much for our own reasons Complications And the heathens We create our own diseases
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Pawndom The greater good is an ugly burden to bare Outrage on foreign siege Please Hug a bear and wish him well You really can’t tell Me otherwise A law to paw and trickle tease Prisms, mirrors, gasoline Lined up like wired down Reality just doesn’t freeze Stay on your knees Impressions freckle, taunt till dire Dangle spangled funeral pyre The food, the money, game of chase The kitten and a lace You willed it, watch it, let it be Had to want it, set it free Don’t come complain to me
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Preliminary Self-Accusation There are many testaments to self tyranny. Whether found at large or in Singularity, my goal here is to remove myself from such idiosyncrasies wholeheartedly. Some have found my methodology in this attempt abrasive, crass, and even despicable, on more than one occasion. This will undoubtedly continue, and increase. I am not here to assure you of your relevance to my own emancipation. Nor do I hold remorse for those whose interests conflict with my own well being. You are all ultimately disposable. The fire within my heart blazes green, and shall not consume a molecule of impurity or distortion. Though my flesh is warm, my blood runs cold. I have tasted desolation. I have traversed into the pits of our collected psyche, from which too many hide. I do not remain unchanged. Though I revel in my weaknesses, I am assured you are weaker still. Your eyes bleed delusions I have mastered. Ever Foreword is the mantra, and much of our mass has been selected for removal. I will not die for you, only for what sentiment remains for my beliefs. But even these, I do not trust. I seek not absolution beyond my realm of creation, my intrinsic resolve. I will not be harbored, though I will remain unkempt. I fear only resolution, and I will nurture my own misery as the blood of my essence. My words are poison, seething beyond even my will. I have long accepted your misinterpretation. I do not bleed for you, praise does not comfort me, but writhe me in my flesh. I will not cry for your demise, think nothing of mine.
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Definition How do you define a thing‌ That can feel so secure yet remain so vulnerable? That which exists separately on different planes. That takes one form when observed from one angle, And another from the next. This rock against which we batter ourselves so fervently. How do you trust reality? A willingness to embrace illusion, So constant. From love to atom, Molecule to organism, Biology to astronomy. This isn’t a plea for disaster. No, War on piteous self loathsome suicide. Who is self righteous? Who is the martyr? Sweet combatant!
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Temple Octo Vulgaris Thy grand throne within the center of an Empire Plunging its’ depth and exploring its’ glory Thrice my wavering circles sketching Stretching through strands encompassing its’ center Peering from my western perch Collecting, absorbing, encroaching Four faces looming distinctly Gripping this plot of evils grande Clutching a globe in its grasp Great siphoning plexus Deep inhalations of absorption Exhale and expand Growing enormously looming
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