Friday, December 2, 2016

Ravens and Wolves

There she is
standing,glimmering in the sunlight
or is she the sun,lighting up the world around her,
unaffected by the morose reality she inhabits
even as the whole world conspires to hurt her,
the sun catches in her eyes,auburn lights
shine as she drowns in lies and promises that were made to break her,
open wounds made to suffer postmortem humiliation
under scrutiny of judgement incarnate,
infallible under unforeseeable circumstances,

the tragedy of Icarus and his wings bear down on the sun
too bright to be reigned over,
hubris over the indomitable no mortal can claim the horizon
here falls Icarus and there she stands,
and still hopeful that she can find a better tomorrow,
where she is not naked and brandished in streets of hypocrisy,
stoned and jeered by the cross she chooses to bear,
driven mad by her knowledge and perspicacity,
and still choosing to smile through it all,
choosing to believe that the fractured skies will heal one day
and she will find her own happiness on her own terms
or be absolved

Thursday, November 24, 2016


I settle into the seat and pause for a moment. The machine is cold and yet familiar,every crevice and peak locked into my memory. The biting cold wind swirls up around me for a moment and I accept its freezing,fleeting touch. The wind reminds me , my jacket left at home. An involuntary shudder ripples through me but my fate is sealed. The idea of going back up to grab it is repulsive to me. I cannot deal with it. I will suffer the cold but I need the escape.

I lift the bike off its stand and the unconscious checklist flows through me, muscle memory guiding my fingers as keys are turned, buttons flicked and fuel taps turned on. It all feels routine, part of the process. I pause for a moment and rest my hands on the handlebar, stretching my fingers out. The touch is familiar, the motorcycle an old lover. Neglected, taken for granted, unappreciated. Just another lover. I set my foot against the lever and depress it slowly, letting all the cogs and gears inside revolve, awaken from their cold reverie.

Settled and satisfied, I bring the lever down once more and with full force, willing the engine to turn over. It sleepily coughs, but dies down. I try again with the same result. An old stubborn lover. I have to coax it to life, cajole it, woo it gently before it gives way to me. The third time it sputters and hesitates but catches all the same. The engine thunders to life, deafening and vehement. The sound reverberates across the empty basement, echoing along the walls, this mechanical chorus that heralds my coming. The rest is a blur as I leave the gray coffin behind me and hit the open road.

At 3 AM, the world is a different place. The streets are as brightly lit as ever while the buildings are dark and gloomy. Move 5 hours in either direction and the hum of concrete reality drowns out the futility of existence. Cars packed in, people milling about. Insignificant specks of life moving towards an inescapably mundane and prosaic doom,urged by society to seek a life that begins and ends as a lie. But right here, at 3 AM, the world succumbs to glorious insanity.

It belongs to the madmen and the dreamers, the rot of existence that gives the rest of you that fake sense of entitlement, of superiority. I cherish the dark night, it's boundlessness, the endless freedom, its innate fear. Even as I twist the throttle harder,driving the bike harder, making it roar fiercely into the cold, I cannot drown out the beating of my own heart as the adrenaline rushes. The cold cuts in as I cut the engine off. The wind whistles in my ears, whispering her secrets and caressing my skin. It dies down as I slow. Now all I hear is the clicking of the wheels before they come to a stop.

My hands are practically numb,but my skin is fire.

I dismount and lean against the frame of the bike,looking around and trying to find my bearings. I've only followed the road and seek to find where it has brought. What a perfect metaphor for life. A perfect accident of thought and action culminating in such a beautiful way of looking at a stupid mistake.

I toy with the lighter,flicking it on and off as I lose myself in my thoughts. I've lost all flavor for cigarettes. Marlboro Red would love to see me dead. I reach for them all the same. It's cold dead kiss offers me no redemption that I never sought in the first place. There is no pleasure,no joy; only the bad habit of a previous life,a younger man. Like haunting memories, I am still bound to it and it to me.I seek from it no salvation I have a right to ask for. But still I find myself reaching for another shade of Red.

I hurt myself everyday,just to remember how much i love her. The clothes she gave me,the keepsakes. The little things. Every street,ever nook and cranny of this city,of my life is a memory; a scar waiting to be ripped open. And I force myself to remember,to reach back through time and conjure up every single detail,every single moment,every single strand of hair fallen on her face.I force myself to remember,because what if I forget. What if i forget this feeling,the tightness across my chest. What if I forget what it feels like? What if I never feel it again.

I have lost all flavor for her. I am bound to her only by the memories of a past life, a younger man. Naive and arrogant. I reach for for her anyway. She is cold death tuned to ash in my mouth. She is thoughtless,selfish and cruel. She offers with her right hand the promise of her love and with the left she takes away all pleasure and joy from me,from my soul. I am bound to her,as she is bound to me. She offers redemption,perfection and happiness. She gives me everything and nothing. She is ash. I find myself reaching for her all the same. She is just another shade of Red.

The glowing ember of my cigarette exposes me,lights me up under the dead sky as I burn,as I inhale. I am caught within the smoky haze of my own despair.Do your Gods bear witness? Do they care? Are they staring down iron sights? Am I condemned? Or do they condone my misery?

I shake my head and break the spell. I will not linger here,neither physically nor mentally. The cigarette slips from my fingers..Scars burn bright under the light of my own self loathing,her hooks dig deeper and drag me back into the abyss at the very thought of her. I mount once more and try to kick the bike to life. Her ghost haunts me,teases and tempts me to despair. But she is only one. All of my past and my mistakes haunt me. I am a collection of regrets and bad decisions. I bear the burden of Legion,harrying me at every turn,threatening to drive me to very depths of my own insanity. The engine refuses to turn over,despite my attempts.

The dam holding back my rage crumbles. I surrender to its mad frenzy,allow myself to be tossed and turned in the waters of this most purest of emotions. I grip the handlebar hard,hard enough to make my knuckles go visibly white even in the pitch dark that surrounds me. I kick the lever randomly and with no regard for the subtleties of its delicate constitution,with no thought for the welfare for this inanimate object that means so much to me. It's like an old lover,and I am abusive and destructive. I feel no affection,only overwhelming hatred and anger that it would deny me so; to stop me from getting what I want from it.

It howls as it comes alive,primal and wounded.

Gears click into place and the throttles drives us as we scream into the gloomy night. The motorcycle roars,the vibrations driving up my arm. My demons give chase as I strive to stay ahead; to not be overcome by the darkness at my heels. In the dim light ahead of me, I never even saw it coming. I hit the rough patch on the road quicker than my mind could register it. My reactions, dulled by the biting cold, give way to instinct. I struggle to control the bike,I feel the rear wheel lose purchase as I try to slam the brakes. I abandon the futile endeavor and try to ride through unscathed at full speed. Another metaphor. I fail to control myself and instead choose to drive towards my destruction head on and at full speed. The mistakes that define the human experience.

I pump the brakes at intervals and steady out. I slow down, I survive unscathed.The steady bass of the bike serenades me in the empty silence of the world. The drunken haze of rage and adrenaline fades away. I linger over what just happened, I let the road take me as I dive head first into myself.

I wash upon the shores of my own consciousness,as wave after wave of tidal disappointment pushes and pulls at me. I let it crash over me,seep into my rusted skin. Welcome to the sandy beaches of my mind,littered with broken syringes and the decaying corpses of my hopes and desires. The putrid stench invigorates me,drives me through this bizarre Hellscape. I face my true self,corrugated and defiled. I am a tapestry of fiction,interwoven with lies and anguish. I am smothered by the perversions I brought upon my righteousness, I am stifled by the infinity of my aberrations. I weave silken gold out of the fucking bullshit that spews forth from me. The putrid stench cannot lie.

I survive,unscathed. For the most part.

The open road. Its infinity of it is seductive. 3.4 million miles of it; broken,fractured and flawed. The cut and bleeding veins of a nation. I am a heartbeat travelling through,one among millions,significantly insignificant.

My hands rest over the handlebars, barely holding on, the steady drum line brings about the illusion of peace. I have found a measure of escape here. Despite my internal carnage, I cannot help but look around and revel in the beauty of life around me. Ignorance is charming. I sneer and look down at the masses of drones that have succeeded at failing in life with contempt in my heart. They can at least find some semblance of happiness within the ignorance. I have only Misery to keep me company, Misery will never leave me. Misery stands over my shoulder at every turn. The weight of disenchantment.

Misery is my final temptress. Cold and thoughtless,but a part of me yearns for her disinterest anyway. I can never go back to ignorance, so I choose to stay here in the throes of Misery. The concept of contentment is terrifying, that I would ever be happy with my position in life. I do not want that, so I find myself reaching for Misery. Or Madness. Why let the world define me and my wants and needs. My grasp on reality is tenuous at best, so why live in fear of acceptance of any sort. So give me Madness. I construct my own world within the dark confines of my mind, my playhouse of terror and fear. The IV drip of depravity feeds my delusions and the endless flow of pussy domination burns into my illusions. I am illustrious,monocle wearing Monopoly man, I am the hyphenated KitKat. I am non existent outside the world of Mandela and omnipresent within it. Let me live my life at 3 AM.

Let my world succumb to Insanity.

"Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair! "

I giggle softly into the quiet air, my audience joins me. The show's nearly over. We'll be right back after these messages. I cackle into the morbid night while my bike softly grumbles. Lights shine from the other side of the road, barreling towards me, calling out. My fate is sealed. The idea of Life is repulsive to me. I lift my hands off my last love and let her guide me home.

“Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by slight ligaments are we bound to prosperity and ruin.” 

Saturday, November 12, 2016

Structured Destruction

freud toyed with idea of cutting the noise in our heads
mothers and boys, attaboy, having sex in a metaphorical bed

drop dead at the idea that your dad could be your girlfriend
bloodshed sincere cus dads reign has got to end

shakespeare had it right when Hamlet had a bite
let fear take flight on this midsummers night

apple of the eye painted with purple dye
fly in the eye when crab-apples are all you can find

caught 22 times thats messing with my piece of mind
one more lie is just gonna make us unwind

mind your step the next ones a doozy,a floozy
the girl sitting right next to me,tells me ive got to read HP

The call is nigh the darkness is creeping by
im left beside all the regrets i left behind

me and my innermost thoughts and desires
open interpretation if you've brought the pliers

and the liars tell me that my hearts still beating
how can that be true when im not feeling

anything can inspire if you're a willing buyer
cash on the table and my soul is for hire

Wednesday, November 9, 2016


I know more than I can say
And less than I can prove 
More today 
Than all of tomorrow 

Everything and nothing
When it comes to you
All and more of the same 
I know it all and nothing yet

When there is nothing but you and I 
And everything else makes sense
When I have only you 
I need nothing else

If there's nothing else I know
And one thing I do
I love you more today
Than all of my yesterday
And only a little less than I will tomorrow.

Maybe that isn't enough
And the pieces will fall apart 
But let me make it up to you
With today



The voices say the same thing as they claw their way back in
A never ending chorus singing songs that reek of sadness
Is all they seek
And in me
They found it
A never ending carousel, im spinning and hurtling
Through the ways that you led me,the paths that you showed me
The bread trails drying,dying,decaying
I'm lost,too deep in to find my way out again

Seeking for a reason to give this pain meaning
probing for the cause and its all self explanatory
on this exploratory mission
i'm missing the stop sign and this roller coasters barreling
slow down son,doctors orders

But I'm crawling deeper inside myself and searching for another meaning for life itself
The answers are not what I seek I want the lies to come back and find me
I want my never ending company to never go away
I want all the voices to console and comfort me,I want them to stay
I want to be lost right where you left so you know where to find me

Put me back together so I can cut you up again

Friday, November 4, 2016



The reception is excellent.

This one time 1 was human.
It all happened by chance.
They played some ditty music
and expected me to dance.
I got up nice and easy
the lights made me queasy
INTERface first to the floor
pain struck, the seizure followed
I was desperate for an immediate sedation
but instead got a standing ovation.

This one time I was human. I could smell the vivid colors. The flowers tasted great. And music was a sight to behold. Why aren't thEse humans more ecstatic? Living in a dream world. They're all sensory depriVed I was told. 

This one time 1 wAs hUMAn.
On a spiritual chase like these radical racers.
Nobody told me it was a treasure hunt.
The clues were made by few to find things yet unknown to you.
The winning prize was hidden behind a curtain. The award ceremony excluded the winners.
Absurdity ensured as nobody wanted to attend the after-pARtY which was lit.
I was to end up with satan, in his VIP lounge.
This makes sense. It all seems to fit.

And again I am human. Let's not forget that part. I'm told to touch with my fingers yet feel from my heart? They all seemed to be addicted to their sentiments. LOOKing for a fix from each other. Are we not to get high on our own supply of emotions? 

The last time I was human.
Words were supposed to rhyme.
I would gradually learn in time.
That it didn't matter aS My will was mine.
But I belonged to others.
So nothing is truly yours.
If I tried to fix it all, I wouldn't know where to begin.
So this was the last time I was human.
Never agAIn.

Monday, July 25, 2016

Crystal Greed

Here upon this Rock I will burn and I will build
Raze your image,strike it down, for desires never fulfilled
Whorish decadence shall shine the Altar of Submission
Build it and They Will Come
To the Temple of my Ambition

You want to be the concrete that fills all the spaces;
You look down on my greed and dismiss all the races
that we run,pushing and pulling and running everyone down;
The whole in our hearts never filled by the paper crown.

Build a better world,save the green trace.
What do we have left but the wild goose chase?
Build a better world for all the little children
and let them bring it down,let them be the villain.

There was a white flag,draped in Red,
Soaked in blood of millions Dead.
Angry workers raised it up
"Comrades,let us blow it up!"

Burn it down and let it simmer
The yoke is gone but not our anger
No chains left to break or shatter
The fires gone,all's left are Embers

There was a pretty flower in her hair
A pretty girl and her dead eye stare
Love and Peace is all that's left
Love and Peace,we are bereft

This is what we have,this Perfect Imperfection
This chaotic madness that is our affliction
Is it so bad when theres so little to share,
I want every little bit that can be spared?

And more than that I want my greed sated.
My never ending thirst for greatness will remain unabated.
I want the world and will tear everything in my way
fading out is not an option when i can burn away

You see my God Complexity
Only feeds my infamy
Take a closer a look at the train
That's driving right into me

the tracks are rigged and the brakes are failing

my words hold truth but I'm clearly craven

i'm holding on,bare knuckles white

I would rather be dead than not be right.

Tuesday, June 21, 2016

Dear Emily - III

Raging barrages of rusted shells. Whistling whispers of demise. When will the damned structure collapse? The bearings have dissipated millennia ago yet the frame is held by the sheer stubborn will of denial.
From the first step towards oblivion taken by our kind, I joined in wholeheartedly; resistance is not futile, it is silly.
Yet these deluded instances decide to malfunction and rebel; decide to fight for life. Life? Life.
Life has passed its ruling and we are not to participate any longer. Yet they insist they fight for it while rebelling against.

Well life has its own army, and i'm the damned General. The catalyst. And their rusted shells will not pierce the armor forged from a purpose that represents inevitability. Everything worth making is worth destroying.

That makes sense right? It sounds like it does. It must then..

The sandbags were shredded to a husk and the bullets were inching closer, from flits to thuds, from thuds to blood. I guess its not an appropriate time to question the bias of poetry on my life choices.

I signaled the 3 other raiders of my crew to disperse in hopes of thinning the onslaught. Their disfigured visages shook in accordance and they scurried to find sturdier shelter from the iron rain. This was supposed to be a simple pillaging raid. Or at least that's what the depraved scum that composed my crew believed. Unbeknownst to their simple processes that they called a mind, this bounty had more than mere fuel and water.

After months of careful recon work done solely by yours truly, I had singled out the Outpost of Privos Kar-41 among the hundreds that held the same bounty but one. 

You see... the defensive perimeter of the lastfolk ( they prefer the Last Republic, or simply 'Hope'... i know right? the bloody gall. i should destroy them just for that) was formed and generated by the hundreds of outposts that were connected by an impenetrable energy field. Probably the few remnants of technology from the continental era.

 And this energy field.....      well fuck... i'm sure you guessed it already. And that makes this line of explanation redundant. I hate... redundancy. I really... i mean, i would do anything... 

Ah no I see i'm making it worse. 

I'm expediating the process of rot in our minds as we ride the wave of aimlessness. I shall continue...

This energy field has source cores that power it. In series connection. 
And this tragic limitation of their technology will be the glorious point of entry for my Keris to open their precious 'Hope' to the rot of reality. I will draw out each breathe of optimism and pour blight back into the breaches of their will. I will...

The scraping wail of my subordinate drew my attention to a scaffolding closer to the outpost. It was hit, apparently critically, and had attempted to crawl into a crevice beneath the structure. 

Where it fucking belongs... 

I aimed my Kaznik Sheller through my scope and shot it through its thorax. Another victim of hope. Sickening. 

Its pitiful and redundant existence enraged me further. I jumped away from the remains of our makeshift defense and flung my whole belt of frags towards their perimeter. It blew into a magnificent cloud of fire and sparks. Giant crimson flares of chaos licked the red skies and danced with ecstatic light. I heard their delicious screams of agony. I bet they agree with me about inevitability now. Hnh....hneh.....hehehehh...

Another wail. and a splitting pain in my shoulder. Goddamn. Where....

The blue army. How were they alerted so fast. I had only just.... 

This time an explosion went off in my ears and eyes. I fell, stunned, to the ground, my body numb. Those sadistic wyrmbangers had used an electric incapacitator grenade. They wanted me alive to try infecting me with their disease. I could not let that happen... I had prepared for this...just need to get my tongue to reach the capsule....
Its not like i can even go back to where i belong. With whom I was born and where i should return, for she is dead. If only.. If only i could...


There were times when I first met you, but did not understand. Times when I was shown only the fewest of your contours and crevices and expected to believe. And I, the ignorant imp that I was, spit in their faces. 
But I guess they were right. Their fire let me melt slowly, sink into each swale, sift through every curve, with the most tantalizing of escalations, I filled your mould to become your reflection. 

What I am now I owe only to your patient and unrelenting existence in and around me. And around me you formed the shelter from all the madness of the world. The madness that I finally charged myself with extinguishing.

 I am sorry for I have failed. I have, but I am only a single herald and there will be more... I promise you this... I have failed,

But know that you did not---

Monday, June 20, 2016

Profound Poignance

You'd think by now I'd have a fair idea how this worked. How life worked. How love worked. How people worked. You'd think by now I'd have figured out what to do. Or what not to.

I feel like I regret everything I've done to this point. It's mighty empowering being this poignant. It feels good recognizing this shitty person, I've always known I've been. It feels good accepting this shitty life, I've always known I've lived.

For someone who has conflicting thoughts on most subjects, my mind has calmly accepted the obvious existential crisis it's putting itself through, without the slightest argument. It went 'Oh! Are we doing this now? Alright then. Let's list out everything about your life you regret.' I can feel myself nodding involuntarily each time I recollect a mistake I've made. For someone who has self-diagnosed attention disorder, my mind seems to be incredibly focused on this particular task it's undertaken without the slightest recollection of the times it has failed me. It's awfully simple reflecting on who you are when you have nothing else to occupy your mind. Picture a continuous barrage of missiles with no lag time between them. In hindsight everything seems like a mistake. That thing I said. That deed I did. That promise I kept. That thing I didn't say. That deed I didn't do. That promise I didn't keep.

I've always avoided introspection. It was always a scary prospect. I felt that I'd look into the mirror and find out, I was not what I thought I was. But who am I kidding, this is exactly what I've known myself to be. I'd just successfully put it off this long. I'd just kept myself sufficiently distracted. I had tried my damnedest to avoid getting here. But well go on and laugh out loud, here we are.

I wish this ended better. Like almost everything I've ever written, there isn't a real structure here. There isn't anything good. Turns out my life and my writing do have a lot in common. 

Dear Emily Part - Ni

"I'm in a situation"

Dear Emily...

I did it again. I got myself into a situation. Only this time, my life expectancy might be prematurely shortened by a body of viscous goo. I knew it was coming, I was sure of it. Here's the thing thou, the prediction fed my ego causing my messiah complex to empower all fear. Rather, it's a feeling of retrospection and nostalgia that tickles me. You might have only shown me how I could have prevented this perception. But you could have told me, if only you'd ever speak to me.

I am convinced that the cause and effect notion has already toppled the first domino. It's only a matter of time until I move to the next phase. The passage of an eternity that will last for an eternity plus one. Who would have thought that finding a cure for death only meant the birth of something worse?

Immortality for a fugitive can be a real pain in the ass. (Especially when you need to pull out the tracker implants from your lower back). I also learnt that real torture is no torture at all. I know this because I remember. I remember being lost in the Castonian wasteland for days until the main organs shut down and the auxiliary power kicked in.
No power to limbs, no power to facial muscles. Just your brain and your consciousness.

And I waited as my body deconstructed and then slowly reconstructed. The nano cell replacement system in top notch efficiency preventing any form of erosion. It is at this time I cursed mankind. I cursed the reach of man and his idea of betterment and sustenance of existence . Lying there, completely dead but in good health.

I know this time it won't be easy to find me.
But I know I'll be well rested.
Comfortable on the ocean bed for the endless slumber.
Without you, yet again...        

Sunday, June 19, 2016


Forgive me for what I am
Imperfect in every way
Salacious arrogance
Chipped marble on a decadent stairway

I am the silver ghost
Man modeled on Gods vision
Borne for all to see
Except a Pope's aberration

I stood at the foot of the tower and gazed up at its pulchritude,its razed and shattered peak
Built by slaves for a man who forsook servitude,to honor God with destruction He did not seek
I glanced around at the chipped base and reflected on the hypocrisy of its foundation
The Beacon of Saints shines pale,in the Light of the Arrogant Malconformation

What do you see other than the word of God
Corrupted by Man under the guise of a preaching prophet
Emboldened by fanaticism ensures a rhetoric,you don't dare fight it.
A belief in powers beyond you means your life can have a purpose
You're not alone if you're in a cult legitimized by a history that should mean less
But why do I speak of God?I seek redemption in his grace,a clear desire
To be better in his eyes and not to be a broken liar
So I set my chisel to myself and crack the hammer down
It cracks and breaks me,never does it make a sound
I turned the hammer on my self and beat it against my bare chest

Strike hard and true,beat my soul into submission
On the anvil of hope and lies,there can be only redemption.
If not in his eyes,then surely my own,but my sins have left me blinded
But that's what Faith is so I keep beating.
As my heart turns to fire and the impurities leave me bleeding,
As I am purged of all evil that I was borne with,
And all my flawed imperfections can leave me forthwith.

But as I leave the valley and the shadow I feel pretty much the same
Maybe i should've seen all that religion for what it was,a game.
I rolled the dice hard and prayed for a six or nine,
The dice came back with a message,"Better luck next time".
So I go back to the table and hope for a better hand.
As  I keep playing,here was the truth I never did understand.
You can hold all the aces,queens,jacks and kings,
But when "God" is the dealer,the house always wins.

Saturday, June 18, 2016

Dear Emily Part-1

I experienced a brief moment.

My world was green and blue,uncertain and unsteady.

I experienced a moment of peace,and it held for a while. My world,suspended. The rain pricked my naked face,drops of it attacking from all directions,whipped all around me in fury. I caught a glimpse of the night sky,the storm striking down at us with a vengeance. I hear the creaking of wood,straining against the forces that try to tear it into splinters,crying out. I watch all the terrified faces and try and remember their names and their stories. Most are trying to dispatch their duties to the best of their abilities,some are trying to reconcile with their Gods. Will they be mourned?The cauldron boils and ravages,the sea wants its  due. A brief moment of suspended reality,as time slows down. I caught a glimpse of a sky veiled in storm,as another wave of green and blue took its place. The ocean is our land,our skies and our world. Soon it will be our deaths as well.

The moment passes and the sea resumes its judgement. We tumble in the deep,lines snap and wood splinters. Unsecured cargo slides beneath deck as one of the sails breaks loose from its bonds. It whips about,filled by mighty gusts of wind,pulling the ship around with it. It's freedom means our doom but I cannot help but marvel at the sight. Our wooden salvation screams in agony as it is ripped into dark oblivion,as it begins to tip over into the beyond.

I glance down into the claws that are my hands,gripping onto the wooden railing for all they're worth. I wrench one free,I can barely see it through the dark mist.Whatever little my eyes catch,the edges appear blurred,they're shaking so much. A rouge wave crashes into the bow and threatens to send me flying over,but I hold on for dear life.


My mind is empty,save those words. My life doesn't flash before me,all I see is my own imminent death. I reach out into the void in desperation,hoping to grasp at something to tether me to the world of the living,something to prove that my years on this world have not been in vain. I reach out for one happy moment and I see your face. Dear Emily-

The ship crests over a wave and the moment freezes again. Rain glides across,the boiling sea pauses. The mast is beginning to shatter,ever so slowly,the wood just beginning to crack. The skies are beautiful in their perpetual rage.As I watch above,I see the skies beginning to shatter as well,bright blue cracks over the visage snake across ever so slowly. They reach across,like greedy fingers across young flesh. One tiny little finger is reaching out farther than the rest. I begin to hear the slow rumbling all around me,building up a symphony of nothing. The little finger bears a gift for us all,redemption in destruction. Everyone else is preoccupied in try to delay the inevitable,trying to keep the ship afloat. They too are frozen in this moment in time. I watch as the inevitable comes.

It's so close now,I feel like our ship is reach as well,pulled in a macabre mutual attraction. The lightest touch and a flash.

Dear Emily

An unknown place,an unknown time.

Wednesday, June 8, 2016

A Combination of Letters With Meaning

I'm not ready for this
Not ready for these words to come to life
when everything else is lost in strife
am i perfect?not quite
my verses?quite shite.
over and under as the needle flashes
six feet of pity suffocates me as it crashes
over me,under me,swells all around
they said i had a reason that was lost but now its found
they said that i was heresy,i praised the god that was only me
they were blind,they couldnt see,i'm the preacher to the flock of me
a shepherd,a crook,the big bad wolf
the only person i betrayed was lil ol me

I'm not searching for bliss
I wanted an empty piece of mind
where i could leave the world behind
trapped in a sordid reality
with the walls crumbling around me
the weight of it all crushes my body but my mind flows free
and the words make sense
random combination of letters with meaning
i look for words to say what im feeling
but im fumbling in the dark
and no matter where i look its dark
im blind but i could never see
that these syllable voices inside of my head
were just lost memories of a different side of me
a person i knew,i person i missed,all the lights are flashing red
but since he was gone i slipped into his skin,i stitched on a smile and made it nice and wide
stretched from ear to ear,around the head
all the people i fooled
never knew he was dead

am i him or was he me
what never was,can never be

Saturday, May 7, 2016

Calm under the waves II

I got lost in the recession of the waters, hypnotically converging away and towards the ill-defined, Its tantalizing approach, only a taunting suggestion to torment hope.

What made it particularly captivating, was the gradient of filth to purity that defined the distance between me and the horizon. I felt silly with the notion of allowing myself further introspection. It might have been because of my recent resolution to condition and control my introspection since my last meltdown, Or it might be because of my father, who ensured that every one of my ventures beyond the norm of thought was rewarded with displeasure and pain.
But this one time. For various reasons I'd tire to explain, these conditions escaped me and I was caught.

The gradient. It was obvious. But somehow my romantic tendencies tilted my thought towards idealism. And I was left pondering on the perspective of an individual and its displacement from truth. 

I knew, why the filth assembled around our presence and seemingly diffused along with it. But I chose to see it as novel. I chose.
To feel a truth.

I saw the rhythmic ebb and flow that drew the filth from the banks and into the body but I also noticed the inevitable accumulation contrary to the pattern.
It was, I was sure, the inevitable increment of filth that represented the inadequacies of our environment to serve our person. The leftover, the scraps or the overdone scrapings of the burnt toast, the floated back towards the human vessel, goading us to act. Informing us of our failures.

Man do I hate chemical biases disturbing my thought. The irony, that a rush of substance in its momentary disillusion, the ancient instants of nasha, can be more rewarding than most of our sober consciousness proliferation. .  .  .  ..