Like a pin cushion I wait for the next edge to serrate,
it's been months since I've felt such hate
The metal will not yield
It refuses to bend and spill; lashing obscenely, obstinately adamant
The screws which drive this hastened race have failed to open
And the cold is ever vigilant, lurking in the sinuses of apathy

Forlorn attempts to reconciliate have piled consistently
And further ones will also fail inevitably
The need for a past is much greater than the search for a future
Knowing what has been matters more than what will come
For dying knowing what could have been is easier,
than to die not knowing what was.

We all want certain things to last forever.

An un-cupped delight in a crowded bus—Spirit of fury rendering you unstoppable—A flash of lightning in your step—A loving embrace—The ocean air—Admiration, unchecked—The fall with no end.
Breakfast… Certain things….

She told me that she liked the way my lips used to taste.
They’re alive now, sadly.
I guess I’m just missing death.

I’ve forgotten the taste of love. The cherished threads that tie people together.
The feelings they profess in supposed honesty, the joy and ecstasy.
I’ve missed opportunities, naturally. Nature played me.
Distraught, I ran from a thought.
I ran a lot.

At the gates of responsibility’s exit, I had another thought. One without definition or reason.
Another ego maniacal ***** fit. A watered down vintage. Faked antique.
Off balance in a world out of balance, yet fools think they cancel each other out.
Sometimes it’s enough to lighten the load — fill the hole.
Usually not.

Escaping reality has its perks. You don’t feel bludgeoned by your actions or burdened by their consequences.
I think of the past as a mirror, when it’s really just a sprightly melancholic, yet gut wrenching, novel awaiting a squeal.
And I’m the only one who can write it. Expecting anyone else to would make the end predictable.
This is how all sad ironies of life must end.
Off the top of my head.

I’ve forgotten myself. I sometimes can’t recognize the person inside this shell.
These actions, thoughts, this ego — I am more than I know or understand.
Not necessarily a bad thing. Most definitely not a good thing either.
Come out guns blazing and paint the town only to apologize profusely — to each and every rotten corpse thereafter — to each and every ***** **** and dripping ****.
I am not your savior.

I make my own hell. I made this bed the day I claimed my throne.
And all your dreams flew into my **** ready to be ****** and multiplied. Progenies of your inner war. The cruelty of your being made thought, sin made flesh, hate made speech.
A victim of the false promise, the martyr of a hollow conscience. I am the end result of my own intentions.
I hate this.

I never thought I’d see the day when I would agnise the depths of my desire.

Ingrained in every cell; the swell of emotion
ebbs and flows into each passing day
like the waves we’re all familiar with.
A calling card;
reminding me of the expectation of love,
the anticipation of hope,
and the abuse of obstinacy.

I learn from it everyday.
Paying respect and gratitude as tuition for the lesson called ‘life.’
Freshman year, every year.

Can’t complete the puzzle even when all of the pieces fit.
There is meaning in this.
Sometimes, I wish it wasn’t so.
But I can’t pursue it alone, so I won’t.
“If it can be realised, let it be so when the universe wants it”, is my escape.
But there is no escaping yourself.
You are the universe and it is you.

It has never felt like it wasn’t meant to be.
It has never been like it wasn’t supposed to.
Maybe one day it will manifest again.
Or perhaps fade like all beautiful, fleeting, moments.

You won’t catch me chasing something that doesn’t want to be caught.
You’ll see me walking the other way.
You’ll see my aura welcome it.
And you’ll see me turn around to embrace it with every fibre of my being.
But only if it wants the same things as I do.

If it doesn’t, that’s okay, too.

Ride forth with your burden of gilt,
in a fit of rage and redemption.
You are death; none can excel.
Your fealty eludes compassion.

That fateful scythe possessed with power.
The souls of your brethren sealed in your chest.
Eternal cries of the ones you ******,
forever wailing on the razor’s edge.

The one you called brother,
slain by your hand,
sold himself to power,
and corruption was born anew.

Unfolding, vitiating
more worlds then one.
The tree of life has fallen,
to this wretched blight.

The Shadow realms succumb.
In waters black they are swallowed.
And the demons fall to its lure,
now slaves to one will.

In the farthest corners of existence,
deep in the heart of the dead-lands,
riding despair, guided by dust,
what terrors await the wicked!

An audience demanded;
The King of the Dead.
A favor paid.
No answers given.

Restitution drives you now.
Concern for justice matters not,
as long as your duty remains unchanged
Salvation is but a weapon in the wrong hands.

Come to lost-light, to Angels.
A journey most twisted and perilous.
From the soaring peaks of the White City,
wait for the light to purge the shadow.

“The scribe is waiting”
words of a traitor.
An angel corrupted.
The light dimmed.

In the guise of honor,
virtue and God,
Suffer the world
the sky is now wrought.

Fire and ash welcomes your arrival,
heavens burn at the sight of you.
Kin-slayer, Executioner, Reaper,
Who is above you?

I’ve been reading a bit about positivity, this past hour.
I have been trying to project what I’ve read, mentally, in scenarios where I’m under stress to see how things work out.

I couldn’t make peace with the fact that sometimes letting go and keeping quiet is the best course of action.
That sometimes, just sometimes, shutting up and letting things happen is the only way to get over a bad situation.
The fallout can be dealt with. The one percent of our animal nature within helps us rebuild every time.

I can feel an uneasiness settling, making its home in the center of my being.
Writhing in malcontent and uneven distaste, counterbalanced hatred for this feeling I’m riddled with. Where is the good in all this?
Is that what forgiveness is? Swallowing the bitter pill? Turning a new leaf?
Among other euphemisms for being a **** up.
Something that’s very hard to do.

Two minds too blind to make themselves up. Nothing is accomplished in confusion.
One kills while the other cries.
Despair and hope side by side, waiting for one to rise and the other to fall.
Positivity is elastic, it can be stretched to fit over what you deem right.
It can be mistaken for a rush of energy, a thirst for life, a sense of achievement, an inebriated night.
All the while festering, brooding, decaying inside, a heart of sadness, that once did smile.

alcohol tears away at the soul
we’re bound to its discrepancies
but alas! we are materialistic creatures
if not, then we are simply animals.

She is sweetness untasted,
by the likes of the deserving
though for some,
love is merely a mistake of judgement
until something better comes along
to subtly replace a misplaced heart.

She is forgiveness unfelt,
a bleeding heart of amore
so they drink,
and play and fall,
until choice is lost,
yielding to fatal attraction.

She is kindness unseen,
not wounded love could defeat
from the bounty of the wasted
we count,
moments until she turns sour
but she never does.

She is sanguine addiction,
of words that melt stone
with a fire that breathes
from her will,
burning in virtue
that makes me sing.

Under this ruthless azure
you return, crawling to me
cloaked in black, where sight is drawn
holding my wants, wrecking my tidings
your bleeding lips, your flaming hair
woo me splendid, fill me brimmed.
Caressed by your touch
forgiveness ensues
a yearning grows
revived again
by your wanton lust.
In the cold you are rigid
aching for comfort
clinging, to what I have,
to what you think of me
as you entwine
your sinuous wines
into my being and forge love,
a desire for your discourse.

In this cold I am frozen,
and here only to watch you shiver.

To reiterate,

Words filling contagious information
into the keener ears of degenerate people

While elsewhere,
leaving scars deep enough
to catch rain water
that can’t be drunk
to soothe the uneasiness

A girl was ***** the day before
GANGED - the headlines boisterously boasted
my fine countrymen on their best behavior
I thought

It’s not a mystery how lightly
they take to such things here
the average *** smoker rots for 10 years
while the ****** gets 4 before he walks

Capital justice
grass involves more money
who’s gonna pay to **** someone?
degenerates waiting on call

Asking for the unreasonable
while selling me a thought
sugar coated and studded with half truths
to turn with the big wheel
and stare atrocity in the eye, eyes closed

Able bodied souls handicap themselves
to perpetuate the cycle of corruption
the wondrous mechanics of our modern world
can’t put a price on dignity
so we boycott what doesn’t benefit us

Is that our reality
or just something I read?

Hopelessly dependent on your heads and hands
were the pieces of me strewn on your platters
spinning wildly, correcting, dissecting my faces
praying for movement of the allegro, sans.

{An insidious little fox with her naughty tail
came to wrap around my being and close
never you mind what transpired next,
a shattering soul was no longer frail.}

But back and forth the fugue swings
never fulfilling the adagio's haste
the remnants of me are long since lost
scrambling for nothing, my madness sings.

Now I am left with no memory or past
now there's naught to look forward to
now I can die a regretful death
now the scherzo, can take flight, at last.

No tears shall fill this olive grove
the sorrows of a few grace its arches
the final movement is now at hand
slump, lively, into the irony of the allegro.

I'll tell you why I don't deserve to win
because I really don't deserve to win
I am the alpha and omega of failure
seriously
because if I've won, it means that someone, who was actually supposed to win,
didn't
If you think that I am the king of losers then you are wrong
I lose even there
it's true, losers have champions
I'm not one of them
I am the key to my downfall
when clouds in summer pass by over head, it only rains on me
even in the company of others with me
this is the glory of my being,
to deposit checks only to watch them bounce
do not grow sympathetic towards my words,
the fallacies of sophists are all the fad these days
my poetry is quite literally a fluke,
meant to soothe the boorish eyes and ears
of those who don't know better
simply, a child's rant to whoever is listening
A tantrum unchecked
fodder for credulous cattle,
you will not buy
my victory here would mean my destruction
most certainly, the heartbreak of someone who has hoped for the opposite
I, the tragic son of fate and loss, am destined to wed grief
I beg you to see truth,
not reason
for if I deserve to lose and I don't, then let me win so I don't.

One day, life stopped by to play a hand

I pondered, he glazed; through - slipped the sand

Things would have been so much easier, if I were sober

I would have gained priorities; game over.

I can’t make out what he’s saying  
Why is he speaking so slow?  
A drug coursing through my veins?  
I want to retort  
But, this lengthy pause in my throat….  
When will my first syllables reach the air around me?  
Is it air that surrounds me?  
I can’t feel it on my skin, my face  
The sky appears to be motionless  
How long as it been since the clouds moved?  
It’s been months, no, years,  
Centuries since I felt my heartbeat  
So much time to think, to dream,  
I can’t remember the last time I took a breath  
Am I still exhaling?  
Am I even?  
I feel old  
Far older than I was when this battle began  
As old as time itself  
He tricked me, it wasn’t supposed to be like this  
How long has it been since his blade pierced my arm?  
When will I feel the pain from this razor’s edge on my palm?  
How much longer before it reaches my heart?  
I can’t take it anymore!  
**** you, Stop torturing me!  
Hurry, hurry, hurry!  
Hurry up and **** me!

I asked for success
disappointment came first
failure pursued close
so did the burdens of all my hopes

I've lost all sense in the things around me
mixing my hatred with apathy to slumber in pity
no bar girl's ***** will construe this animosity
thrashing mad within the synapses of my mind

if in finding the light I will be saved,
then I will break every ******* bulb that glows
such a shame - wallowing for name
pain is the ultimate game

lets see who can take the most punishment
they place bets and take shots
they is the flow of things
and they are *******.

I am a woman, in a man’s body
with a ***** that doesn’t work
I have ****** the vineyards and the haystacks
grown a beard as long as a pine tree
the beard is downstairs
and it is joined to my hair
which is also long, flowing from my shiny head
I speak 500 languages
I cant read
I once slept outside my own house
in the blizzard of 93’ I fingered somebody’s sister
I even slapped a judge for being too **** ugly
but seriously, I’m currently jacking off to everybody’s mom
no no no, I’ll be honest for old time’s sake
my greatest lie is that I am/have-done none of these things.

how horrible you are!
mirrors crack upon your gaze and split you in two
yelling and throwing tantrums, almost begging you
to vanish from their reflections, so they can heal again
the ugly truth - a part of the festering pile of **** you really are
want more? sure

you write about how wonderful a brand new day in your life is!

-this is happening in an E.R. at 4:00 AM - no subtext

last night was the best ever! drums, drugs, toxicity and debauchery

-you beat the land lady to within an inch of her life, then
ran from the cops for 4 miles, after which
you fell down 4 flights of stairs in the park because
you couldn’t see the railing properly - no subtext

{new update! 158 people followed you}

you’re a success. your blog is on fire. next day 281, day after - 590.
you post pictures of yourself with women getting ******* and ******

-you didn’t score with either - no subtext

you write old quotes that nobody’s heard in ages

-said you started a trend and took pride in it - subtext

you post made-up chats with ***** women trying to come on to you while you’re playing it cool

-it was your pen pal asking you to stop being a fake cause she believes in who you actually are,
so you tell her to ******* and block her. - no subtext

the one thing you don’t write about is why you are such an *******
in a world full of ******* with nothing better to do
than entertain others with a **** load of lies
simply for the sake of recognition

I will not refrain from making this personal
You have dwelled in me long enough
To force my hand
This hand, that now, won’t stop shaking
Because of you
Scribbling ink upon paper-
Smudged with sweat from my brow

Inside
The fires of your hell,
Outside
The tundra of your stare,
Rattle my brain
And from me you drain
My strength and my patience
I retain only adamancy
To rival your vexation

You, who have crippled me so
I pray you know, how much I loathe
Your pestilent touch
But I beg you still,
To keep my hands,
To keep my head,
To leave me this much.

paradoxes under tables
walled open doors
back alleys, woodwork streets
all busy, all morose
rat podium picture maze
my arms are gelatin
affixed in spares
left to be eaten
windows with glare
the arches of Rome
panels of glass
the musical sheets
orchestration aligned
trumpets on my right
tubas on my left
the open door
let the rats in

1.1 - I am unread    
        
1.2 - those letters of condolence lying on the bed    
        
1.3 - that ephemeral note initialed in red    
        
1.4 - that formal invitation for the newly wed.    
        
2.1 - A disturbed heart to caress    
        
2.2 - with words unfit to address    
        
2.3 - A tragic dusk beckons unless    
        
2.4 - here distress succeeds success.    
        
3.1 - Patience lost and passed around    
        
3.2 - anxious fell the tragedy crown    
        
3.3 - the coldest breeze brought it down    
        
3.4 - A stranger to all upon its ground.    
        
4.1 - A swindled tongue that once had said    
        
4.2 - all that bleeds will soon be dead    
        
4.3 - like the fading memory you choose to dread    
        
4.4 - A feigning heart yet to be read.    
        
5.1 - Those words of goodbye by despair led    
        
5.2 - with an ugly truth left to confess    
        
5.3 - that missive of hope which never turned to sound    
        
5.4 - still unread.

capture this fleeting joy
and bind them in memories.
not knowing what despair awaits
this morose forthcoming dependency.
condition my cold shell.

twas freedom that ached
for another day of rest.
lolling to the minutes of apathy,
sanctioned sadness ensues.

now. here. the voices play tricks.

ferrying me beyond sanctity
without appetite or stomach.
phantasm; blinding apprehension
with wisps of blackness.

hardened by sorrow
the tinker’s bells are mimed in spite
upon me, ceasing feeling.
Below, the sands drain wildly
into oceans roaring. still,
the screams of drowning souls
can be heard, similar to my own
cries, swallowing suffering
with hopes to be rid of it,
no one cares.

resigning to defeat
the weight of memories bearing heavy,
in these final few moments of quiet,
sink; down to the bottom patiently

Don’t misunderstand, I still douse my senses with alcohol from time to time.
It’s only the green and black that have been phased out of my daily routine.
I have a mental drug problem. I can’t stop over-thinking or even over-smoking, in fact, and I let it get to my head in a way nothing ever has.
Imagine living a life based solely on the acquisition and consumption of a drug you claim to have complete control over.
Sounds like a ******’s ******* to me.
Every action is governed by the need for a spliff and nothing gets done after a spliff.
As much as I love it. I hate it.
The grass isn’t entirely to blame. I’ve started hating cigarettes too.
Can’t stand those little *****. Now, I know there was a time when my love for them was eternal.
Poems, confessions and pneumonic reasoning were customary to express the profound admiration, but it has finally waned on me.
And I’m not trying to sell you on this, but it actually feels good to wake up not feeling like granny ****.
Back to the mental fray.
It cost me my memories, my judgment, my focus and confidence. Bare in mind, this only pertains to me.
It probably affects you differently.
If so, then this must be entertaining for you to read.

Since I parted ways with THC, I’ve gotten more work done in a month than I have all year. I’m clearer. I’m certain. I’m a *****.
There is no fog. But my memories are still lost. That damage seems to be permanent.
But my sense of wonder hasn’t waned at all. The fascinations have actually intensified since.
I think that’s because I have forgotten what it means to be sober.
If there’s anything that can change your world. It’s grass.
Not by much. But you’ll know the difference when you’ve lived with it for as long as I have.
Once again, not threatening your love for it (rests gun at your temple) only speaking my (sober) mind.

Now, I’m going to go get hammered, and be a bigger ****** than I ever was, before the dry week starts.

Electricity is talking; we understand
losing interest in conversations. creating land.
droplets of ice define the day
August ends in the middle of May

intrepid peeling; scabs of the earth
the hands fail; a dumbed feeling
Eins, the seeing blind have never seen
on screen, a shape of many faces

in through the open windows outdoors
smoke dries the unseen. air dry.
so paragon goners repulse the cleaver
the system has failed

so much detail to attention
when pink isn’t even a color
time is wasted on time itself
unfortunate cookie

wires once made you. complete.
ask for the answer to the question is nothing
Zwei light birds on a wire
the happenstance, the fire

where hell listens, there sight is drawn
selfishly we glare and mourn
******* ice cubes yelling “Jesus may…”
cold as **** the cesspool lay.

So, maybe I’m over thinking this.