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Nov 2017 · 985
bleach
"Hard liquor, ketamine and fifteen tabs of lucy's tears. Alternating twisted nerves from colour swapping friends.

He was always hiding from shadows in coagulated scales. Lesions decorating wretched pinions.

Yet, those feathers were swords of ice and cartilage. Never to melt, never to fly.

He embalmed me in the enchanting stench of wet cigarettes and spilt whiskey.

His was psychotic love that brandished no enthusiam for idle pupils tracing back to faceless windows..."

breeeeathe
Showtime!!

marring camaflouge with filthy feathers in my flesh / alluring plumage sets the record to a captivating
skip

impressing mortal pestilence / we're lauded for our efforts / to console the wilted petals on this faceless windowsill

Faceless

the ink falls from my quill / in roiling markings / scrolled in blood / deciding whom to ****

the portrait gleams in silver / cloaking dead locks under glass / until reflections split in tiny, jagged peices everywhere

paint my lips in black,
so intimately deft.
gimme, gimme never gets


she squealed as daggers found her spine / connecting haunting ciphers that would graze our swollen -

Fingertips in tangled, purple shade

take away the pain / they prayed as lust encroached their open sores / shedding off the membrane that embroidered every word

longing for his nails to drill / deep into my tattered scalp / the heat of burning tissue is no downside to my lungs

inhale

you need to catch your breath / it's a state of humid frostbite / hoping we can catch our death

orchestrate this bludgeoning / in violent harmony / this is your symphony / your symphony demanding one more -

caveat for breeding ignorance

Cap'n sugar huffin' paint / he sings about his dog / it's some relapsed cultist ***** dirge / collector seeks his blood

maybe he's a playwright washing monsters by the tide / the silent scream unbearable / another faceless window

*to contest we've broken through
I confess we're broken too
Nov 2017 · 648
Go Ask Alice
i love you.
down,
          down,
                    down,
                    the rabbit hole you go...

He held me like ****** gloves
Or amphetamine sheets
With hollow point tips
Δ
Our apothecary mourns
For the taste of something new
As they gather up my things
And pierce into my flesh
Δ
When did the winter get so bright?
Sunburns graze my face
He took me to the fair
To drown me in the light
Δ
These mirrors belay my point
Succumb, my twisted love
Meet me in the dark
Married to my veins
He drew geometrical atrocities in my skin with sharp, clean testaments to love
Maybe I have wings
And maybe he has claws
sigh
stupidstupidstupid
Idiot.
So ******* ******* moronic -
Listen to yourself.

There was once a time I enjoyed the craft.
But inevitable & insufferable, comes
the voice. Cuts through / trite  analogy /
my thoughts...                 /.p.o.i.n.t.l.e.s.s./
betray me
every time

Asunder the psyche is devoured by a cannibalistic anxiety.
My   one   armed -

shutupshutupshutup*
Okay
The tale begins at the end,
With apologies to the defunct writer.
A quitter, a coward, a spastic monotony.
Her pride was useless/non-existent.

So... broken and pointless she leaves me alone, with the raging thoughts* in my skull. As they ricochet in a segmented pattern of random redundancy... I'm pointless.

Pointless, pointless, pointless. Not unlike a rounded triangle. Ovals are round, but not circular. Triangles form a rectangular amalgamation at the right angle.

People tend to look better smiling (or with rusted pins in their dimples). Sidenote: I've been sidetracked, back to my den by a family of lions.

*icepicks
Nov 2017 · 314
thesaurusaurus rex
Rhyming is so gauche.

It's the blasé, passé, maladroit way to write. A trifecta of poorly chosen french adjectives that rely on the mispronunciation of the reader to convey a sense of misappropriated irony.

Call me bilious or contumacious, but drowning in flamboyant synonymy doesn't make the piece at all efficacious.

If anything, it fails by embellishing the excerpt with ostentatious verbiage, relaying a sense of drab and pervasive laxity.

Transparently lackluster and drearily mediocre, this message is insipidly vexing. Albeit, a hackneyed trinity of suffixes won't salvage the aforementioned fiasco.
"She's terse, I can be terse. Once, in flightschool, I was laconic".
Lately, I've noticed your output is dwindling. It breaks and resurfaces in bursts of pretentious so-called creativity.

Or, pompous, self-deprivating stabs at poignant insight, that leave nothing but gratuitous drivel splattered across the page.

You screech nonsense like a hemorrhaging thesaurus. One that's been infected and left to bleed out with the lyric of madness.

Needlessly scavenging for any semblance of coherence. Unironically characterized by rote observation.

Yet, lacking cogent grammatical phrasing, it's rife with trifling misnomers and lackadaisical pleonasms.

This walking, talking attempt at portraying some satirized image of lunacy. A personal parody is your sardonic epitome.
-love, your sesquipedalian sobriquet
Nov 2017 · 617
forgetmenot
I sat upon the cold, wet ground
tears kissed my cheeks
a ballad to serenade
seasons arrest

he loves me, she loves me not

paraffin wax enshrouds
like candles to the storm
my flurry of plastic bulbs
born in the raindrop's gut

she loves me, he loves me not

ablaze with lucid thought
I sung a tuneless song
harken to this dream
my floral skeleton

we love you, they love us not

disjointed petals flutter
away from dreary stems
and I awake quivering
in a pool
of chartreuse leaves
and musky enamel
Nov 2017 · 147
the firescape
a fluttering jolt
Eyelids leapt from my skull...

The faucet was steadily ticking down the seconds akin to a slowly building memory. It's mnemonic persistence relished each vapour as it pooled, disappearing in a haze of omission before abandoning the oceanic recollection...

The inferno flourished,
I gathered my wits:
"Frame...work..."
glass

An immolated plane waltzed to the rhythmic pirouette of cinder and billowing smoke. Ash precipitated in a gentle flurry, blanketing surfaces in a forgotten, petrified tableau. Regretful sheets with crimson hues clung to the walls...

"Wrought iron... rungs..."
The lights went out, or
Paled to the blaze..
smash

Crashing through to the tempest beyond, a shattered storm of swords rained down upon some deserted pavement wasteland. From the maw of a seven headed dragon spat magma ichor, trickling in a sudden, rapid burst from the hellbound tower above....

      Diving
          endlessly
               aimlessly
                    toward
                         humanity


baseline...
Nov 2017 · 360
Squid Picnic: no alarms
Desperate, wistful conversation
Modifying open wounds
Candy coloured psychogenic
Apple flavoured psychopath

Fleeting jackels, sputtered cries
"Dare to dream," he wouldn't croon
Spotted moons and sickly skies
Baby needs some reddened palms

I caught him glimpsing; in my window,
someone left me ghasty notes
nasty, nasty state of ruin
Twisted wrists with carpet cleaner

Costly, sullied predilection
Eyes unopened, wrapped up in -
Velvet, velvet binding blinders
Fluttering above the bone

Immortalized by cataracts
Shirt is ripped in daunting patterns
Breath engrossed by aerosol
I squeal as insects gnaw my flesh

That's the kind of **** I loathe
Ungainly hands pressed to the dirt
I swear to death I caught this angel,
Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah


Deadinside//headunderwater...
I know what you want for Christmas:
'Big box, cards, no wrapping paper,
corporate schmucks with shiny knives.
Plastic stares and broken condoms,
Wednesday, thursday, calenders,
a makeup kit on advent blood.
DVD's propped in your casket'.

Ghosts don't have the right idea
Screaming into microphones
Better off to try your luck at -
Why don't we just take a minute?

Brief hold for the schizophrenic
"Cut my hair down to the scalp".
Don't stop 'til it makes you sick
I need this, need this, NEED THIS, *this
sleeves, glass and gingerale
Nov 2017 · 149
Karmasick (broken)
I didn't mean to be this way
line break
Determinism likes to manifest destiny...
all it's own.
Cherry paper. Holiday incense.
My fingers are numb with the pin ******
(of a thousand forgotten regrets).
Do or don't. Red trees. Bad trees.
Happy friend. Good friend.
refrain
0
I have no
happy break
A moth was caught in the spider's web.
An eternity in dog years.
*imadeamealoutofyou
...
           I summoned the courage
  to walk                               on calluses
peeled                                     from glass
   heels.                                     The well 
 overflowed                      springwater
         filled with arsenic syringes.

                    someonehelp

  A trail of cyanide dimebags
                                       led me
        along their littered path
        upon
        the city's spine. Concrete squares
                                                   gave way
 to poisoned rivers of snaking asphalt.
 A putrid orchid
 adorned by blank smiles
                       sat grinning
                        in her torn,
                black wedding gown.

           it was love at first sight

Her             jungle        of           expiring
       scythes           and     dying
birds         swooned    at            my
        skeletal         embrace,           bones
scraped         the             toxic bark
             from      her            melted flesh.
Skin          fell like   scarlet   snowflakes
        at the       slightest   touch,
peppering  the       ground in a morbid
                      shroud.

  it was always textbook (in execution)
       my diatribe was a witchhunt
       *iWaSBuRNeDaTTHeSTaKe
Nov 2017 · 180
patches
autumn apparel augments awareness
of spreading scars, under my sleeve.
sensible fashion supplements scratches
that scar [scar] bleeding sensations.

Secure in my spoils that would cause them to notice the growing creation that cuts through the fault line. Shifting the patchwork to new constellations, amazed at the labyrinth hiding beneath.

I pulled back the shame by the skin of my gums; the water was foggy with it.
'til the liquid runs clear,
                           'til the liquid runs clear,

(Terror and heartache shake me again).

Fear [fear], murderous dignity...
            (humiliation and blame)
Weap, lie, nowhere to run.
Hide
from
the
sun
with
the
kiss
of a
pistol.

Burn away, oh gaseous normality...
Pass me by, perpetual enemy...
You ******* poison my sky,
With rays of perspective, blinding me so...


The preacher said, "Don't cry for the sun - for at night it commits to a fiendish agenda: Forcing the hands of a weary society, submitted unto the abyss".
r's are just upsidedown L's (an E with one leg)
Nov 2017 · 307
In Memoriam
It's feels like it's been the better part of a decade since you've been gone, 'though, it's the worst part of mine. It's true I found another decrepit hovel to call my home, but, that's a misuse of the term - a bastardized string of wrong sounding syllables.

Today on the bus, tears stuck my heart as an association with those ear piercing lyrics resonated deep within the cavity that once held yours next to mine. I resisted the urge to crawl along the floor and avoid the suffocating tributes of the past.

So, maybe I forgot about the choking winds of a sunless sky. Or how much of an egregious affront it is to shatter someone's illusion of comfort and safety. I never determined whether you favoured the former or the latter...

(Both, and/or diamond rings)

These days, all action is a solitary reaction or an involuntary play. A game with no winner and only one competitor who won't stop cheating when shuffling a deck with too many cards. I don't have the hands to hold on to this mess, and yours became bloodied and scarred.

I'm sorry I didn't protect you from yourself. Or the mistakes I watched you endure. Another cold splash of water to the face might have woken us up, but, we were weary, broken wallflowers. Always assuming the other had a plan.
Nov 2017 · 159
shadows of ruined teeth
And on the way she lied, she said,
"Someone will save me, I just have to try".
The words were so hallow as hope was eschewed.
So the horsemen rode behind.

such a fall to the floor through this silly arcade
just another expense that remains
still, she's trading her ****** fluid for rent
smitten with kings that would throw her a bone.
it's a...
cord tickling respite
nobody here had to dance on her grave
watching her fear as the carnival *****
she's a slave to the game that would wash her ashore
.

He grabbed her by the thigh, slurring,
"No one will love you, girl.
Where is your pride?"
Simply displaying a callous divide to affectionate bartering was his aside.

the lizard did chortle in rapturous glee
belittling maidens by pulling at seams that would otherwise garb her in jilted apparel. holding her down beneath dolorous tide
.

And to the sky she cried,
"Use my flesh as wings," she begged it to fly. But hooves were cascading, collapsing in twine (splaying her skin into pulverized mulch).

And on that day she died.
It was sudden and pointless
Much like her life.
She fell to the ground to a volley of spears.
And the horsemen crushed her spine.
the babies* [died with blood] in their lungs
an abrasive cadence
[that chews through]
their eardrums with relentless vim
our esophagus subject
[to]
[the screams]
[mucus swamps]
[they pool] on the floor [and form]
[a] carpe diem for their ******* [drip]
fed vocalist rejection [in most circles]
tear the flesh from our shivering throat

a respite or repeive
from the powers that be
i'm bubbling turmoil or just
rage in repression, much like
a red balloon, floating away, ready to burst
and from the heavens of my own
war torn psyche holding on to
broken umbrellas capturing
torrents of inadequacy


"You'll never be good enough.
Even your façade is a false reflection
Of who and how you are. This is doom.
You're destinited to fail, and fall, flat on
your useless face. Dead and forgotten.
Or a alive and alone- if you can call that,
'Living'."


You know [I] don't.
So
[bleed] with me.
"It's a good day".
Yours is a parade I tend to lay hurricanes down upon. Try to understand that I'm just trying to forget. Some things we just need not to remember anymore. But, I'm finally losing weight, again. And all the coffee is gone...

The bard stumbled onto my gasoline chariot:
Her song was sung with swords of ice
                                       and disinfectant
These tears are wolf fangs
                                   and montone guilt
dancing to the tuneless dirge
                                           of rotting skin
           covering demonic wingbeats

(attempting another flight into the sun)

"I prefer to sing when no one's listening," she always spoke in metaphor
or with hidden pronouns
for nameless spectres
smeared in crimson stains
on the bathroom mirror
always scribbled backwards
as a reflected tactic to repress
the inner screech of rambling ghosts


She wrote with a smirk, "a morbid sanctuary on which to blaspheme heinously". Curiosity got the best of me. So I produced this gouging stiletto of deflected irony.

"Today is a good day," I chuckled with solemn desperation. Still rejecting the pronoun.
Oct 2017 · 144
Carcinoma
It's been nine weeks since I fell from insomnia's tower. Plummeting into a slumbering melody that slithered throughout my weary eardrums. Evangelical snakes have fed on the grey matter of my reptilian brain.

the masquerade lives on, yet...

The collapse from that height left depressions in the sand - a forested nexus of limbs devoid of foliage. A toxic canopy flaunted nothing more than oxygen deprived veins, blowing feverishly in the icy breath of nightmare's familiar embrace. It's been a while old friend

The peak is an hourglass of bone white analogy. Some temporal cacophony counting half-seconds with a pouring redundancy. (Reassembling in a sea of noxious time-worn marrow to resemble a visceral passage in days). An impatient reminder of my own patience, dancing in blanketed lucidity.

Moreover, the hounded jester of reality is put down - akin to a slaughtered lamb pestering me in askance. "There are worms festering in our eyesockets now". There are bill collecting maggots in the sand.

she died in september. only...

I don't think you understand. Until now, drowning in the future's would-be glass has been a haunting reminder of what's past and the minutes that can never be saved. A grand portion of existence carved out and fed to the suspended consciousness of maddened vultures - feasting on our psyche with vitriolic fervour.

An open letter to crowd sourcing a suicide pact. A broken home with shadowy grievances that grimace around every corner. Her face is a hollow husk, hiding under the bedsheets. Like a flower with withered petals and a rotted core.

*a tailored memory, forever more.
Aug 2017 · 191
-[(Screa) + (Emu) - u]s
"I just want you to know, I'm giving up".
Trying is a two-faced misnomer,
Your decision gives me pause.
"Your prediction gave me claws... ******
Unholy, Sharp, flesh retracting paws".

next stop, everybody off
Everyone is misery, I missed the freaking
bus. But, everything else is gravity boots.
Hold her hair while somebody mutes this
sick retching wretch.

He's not a cop. Just a ******* drip.
wherewasmystop-justacocainesunrise
Cinnamon cigarettes...

(public intoxication is
a time honoured tradition
a fine way to spend your time fined
as you found yourself - find out your self)

It's,
the Tur(beth) of a (liza)rd's (El)astic neck.

She's just a ***** **** head screaming
In the streets...
Not illegal by an means according(ly)

To the officer's collecting their pension
At least give her one final fix
Killing time, that's fine
Ennui & heroism

At most give her [that/a] ******(e)
Hedonism is a gifted grace
Oh, "I should've run
Lies load guns
Deaths' fun"

Over it
Forget - forget

"Under it,"
  Said malaise's pet
the man in the suit gets 'em all in the end
Aug 2017 · 325
Four nights without a moon
What colour are her eyes?
E) all of the above.

Together in death
we shall take our last breath
(timezone discrepancy, lemme catch up):

morning, sunshine

Dreaming of a bathtub
rapidly filling with My blood
laughing like a maniac
As sorrrow streams down my face

smearing his shadowy lipstick

With crimson accents
in a vat of hemoglobin sacrifice
For I am your razorblade princess
please, ******* tears, love

okay...

deadlydeadlydeadlyhope
Someone else will clean the mess
No one has a horse to ride
cut me, baby, one more time

*cutmecutmecutmeup
your bladed nails feel like firebomb ecstasy
Aug 2017 · 200
rainbow rose
"I'm so bitter right now".
I know, right? Coffee with no sucrose,
Too many hits of ****** sugarcane,
A tingling taste of injected plant matter
What matters is the infected can't love

    [The metaphor of a beautiful thorn]
   [An analogy about crumbling petals]
[A figurative idiom rejecting dead stems]

                  splicing genes
                              staining white flowers

          with coloured dyes
                                   her seedlings die


                   Dehydrated lust
                       rehydrated envy
                         drown in greed
                      A cumulus wrath
                        watered gluttony
                         floods of pride
                   Oh, osmotic sloth


There's a fuel-line 17ft away from the
rootbed. My garden is a gasleak away
from ignition. spark.

My interest is waning. It accumulates
at a rate of 17% (compounded weekly)
until
propane membranes form in the crevices
of eukaryotic cells with cellulose walls.
"Kicked down
by authoritative representatives
of incarcerated irony".
Iron lacking transitive properties,
Fe whatever the ******* want, lady

"She can't have those, she's going to jail".
   This nicotine tinder doesn't baby you
      When met with butane flintrock
        Inhale them at whatever rate
            You please, fast or slow
                   *flick, flick, boom
carboncarboncarboncarboncarboncarbon
Jul 2017 · 213
Beset by Vultures - The End
"Spring mouring reign".

Enter the woman in stripes
Sword in hand
cascading through the castle guard.
Her only care
locked in a perilous tower keep
The bars match her shirt
and their blood
matches the red in her eyes
She screams with unfathomable rage and
pulls bones from her enemies with ease

"Close your eyes, just dream".

I've never heard
such frightening slaughter
They fall like pawns on a flaming board
tentacles of steel flay lesser protectors
Only mayhem can break the trance of love

she crushed them all
and didn't need the blood in her stomach

"This is, a reason for broken wings".

arrows decorate her intestines
and Her goal has been picked apart
By vultures and regal semantics
a dying hero with icepick scars
And wounds reopened by fallen stars
The all star diaries

"I'm not coming home"

carrying this crying corpse upon her back
no solace in escape when pints spill out
Beer is preferable but blood is a fact
Dream of me in the coming solitude
hope for me in my graveyard psalms

They,
better have dressed me in ******* viole
                                                                      t
an insomniac's dream journal
[DEATH, LOATHESOME DEATH]
an insomniac's dream journal
His fur was black & orange
a running colour in these 'dreams'
Consciousness is monochrome
     lizard screams are monotone

my roots are built of melted sand
drinking [shattered] from my palm
the tree is wilted in the sun
                             ihatethesun ihatethesun

"Please open the door, your love has come
to slice your cheeks
my favourite instrument is dead
       He cracked it over
                                someone's face
                                oh no
                                        no one's here again".

Your final songs are echoing:
an insomniac's dream journal
It was a solemn coastal deadlock
some bizzare mutation running amuck. Strange men with unsaid abilities
rescuing lost children from the headlight hunters

each part formed part of a cohesive whole
A multi chained parable that some villainous wizard rewrote, becoming the hero of his own manuscript
Waves of confused monsters washed the lighthouse in grief

His caregiver was dead beneath rolling stones by the third act
shattered femurs lie lovingly under the lakes implied rejection
"someone's going home"

they arrived under the cover of night
Found awaiting for his ride in the bar
they skewered him with a broken poolcue
only one week away from his latest birthday
"these edits make for wicked libs".
an insomniac's dream journal
Jul 2017 · 216
pomade peregrine
It's a Japanese jungle
with berries and high scores
(the term high doesn't begin to cover it)
maybe if you replaced all your blood
with a concentrated solution of n,n-DMT

these theistic insinuations are allegorical
don't take me for a fool
there aren't enough pixels
in this 2 dimensional dreamscape
for me to see the face of your messiah

there's another sea of trees on this island
I'm remiss to have missed out on,
"ThInK oF yOuR faMILy"
Dead bodies and ghosts litter the pathway
This is my safe place at night

Please extinguish these dreams of colour
these computer rendered backgrounds
All the bleeding joy
and happy-go-lucky funtimes
it tastes worse than tar and gunpowder

try and see through my conical poison
an insomniac's dream journal
This room's littered with *** toys and bloodstains.
Empty beer cans and ***** laundry that's nearly half animal hair, half ****** fluids.
He's there, she's there - they all showed up for a night of blackouts and left before the sun rose.

Rose...

There's a wilting flower breathing in soot amongst forgotten memories. The floral antithesis of a forget-me-not.
The kind we give to ourselves with filthy syringes and wash in destitute bliss.
Watered with gasoline and a silicone manhood.

There's spilt milk and crying consumers.
**** drunk horror buffs establishing antfarms in molten lead.
But when I wake up, the only part I can rememeber is the scurrying legs
slowly
solidifying
   encased in an ever cooling tomb.

I don't remember falling asleep though...
an insomniac's dream journal
I sweat so readily it's disgusting. Beads of salt flavoured embarrassment pour from my impacted flesh like a sodium waterfall. In the night it never ends, and I can no longer punch or run from my adversaries. Simply spew the water fountain of fear from my sweat glands.

These are the kind of waking atrocities that cannot be communicated. These are the undesirables and bizarre plays of physics I loathe so. It's not often I'm privy to forget my consuming visions however. For instead of sleep I am basked in endless hallucinations. A state of full conscious insanity I bear on my weary, burning eyes.

Although, no one would care for nor believe my recollecting ramblings, "That just means you don't remember falling asleep". You useless homunculi. You believe me to have been born such as this? I know what sleep is. There are my waking nightmares. This is the torment of madness.
an insomniac's dream journal
"It's impossible to die in your dreams. If you die in your dreams you die in real life. That's what I believe".

Good for you, I'm murdered every night.
A hunting knife with jagged teeth.
I feel the blood drain from my throat.
I've fallen down so many feet.
And felt my bones collapse under gravity.

My nights are hopeless death, and
I'm attacked by my skeleton every day.
What a pointless life, I mean
Seriously, just give me another cigarette.
an insomniac's dream journal
***** clogs the shower drain. It's combining with your fallen hair. Or mine, like platinum strands of muscle tissue, the ******, beating chest cassettes.

I heard your stupid song. The sound of a handless applause. Applaud for me, I'm throwing up. This dishwater has so many scars. Just bars of soap with oatmeal stains.

What's that mean? Analogy? A simile? A metaphor? There's no one knocking at the door. The king's a *****, adore a door. So what's this dream mean anyway?

Too many rhymes to care. Too many slimy coins too count. Garlic fears with (bury me) apropos for broken toes. I propose a toxic toast.
an insomniac's dream journal
Jul 2017 · 117
thousandeyedpeacock
Welcome to stasis
                   the bases of grief
             orange waves
         upon an endless sea of neon
pulsating relentlessly, exercising futility

a skeletal canopy bleeding our feathers
dot dot dot
         this slave in golden silk
             and powdered threads
   stainless loops ******* in my skull
shelling out body parts into their home

what do we order? pizza or sushi?
                too
              many
            option­s

all out of money, hunny
                                honey & LSD

it's the trickle down effect, regarding
                                               this tolerance
six is enough? I feel like
I'm dying - stay in the shower
that's been on the stove for a week
                                                          *r­etch
an insomniac's dream journal
for the fourth night in a row
                        i rose in a hospital bed
                        overdosing chemicals
                        over blowing nervesbeds
On the fifth 
The tail
Of foxes & felines
Danced me their tale:

fashionistas, cartoon cats, Spanish foxes and pyramid dances. There was a small lifeform forever caught in the endless gears of their windmill. A reserved acceptance overtook it's being.

A state of perpetual fortitude. Back and forth and back and forth. These five companions beckoned tears. Reality was pulled apart. He cut my throat with ****** fangs.

A ****** knife, a ****** car. I choked upon the windmills blades. They offered me a place to sit, I gave them my esophagus. Sarcophagus of scarab skulls.


"Oh what are you doing?
"I'm just hanging out".
"I loooove your little bag".
"Yeah I use it to carry around my..."
"It's just..."
"Do you have..."

They booted the globe into armageddon, and I awoke with needles in my arm.
an insomniac's dream journal
A glob of nicotine tainted spit cascades toward the sidewalk. Divorced from his glands, married to the baking pavement.

A one armed, bow legged horrowshow with black irises and white pupils. A racist theme, where's the diversity in his teachings?

A double entendre with racewar implications and liver bound complications. The application of an accusation to his dogma based assertions.

Expelled.
A letter on my phone.
E, X and P.
The D fell off the edge of the world.
Here there be monsters.

The pills could never make me sleep.
Tossing and
Turning and
Roiling and burning.

Lying in the limbo of consciousness.
Not truly awake but never to fade.
Aware of my surrondings.
These stares are so confounding.
Compounding
                   with the
                   stairway I'm
                              stumbling
                     ­                        down
                                                  down
     ­                                                   down
*as I fall face first & tumble to the ground
an insomniac's dream journal
I was an evangelical lunatic this time.
And everything I saw was burning.
Was this hell?
I had to warn the common folk.

I begged them to heed my word.
The scripture of a tome I held dear.
I couldn't feel *them
in my body when I...
But, there it was again...

A monster. A poisonous beast with fangs,
claws, a confusing and confused mask.

Always watching me. A spectre of the underworld. A beast beyond salvation, seeking to drag me into it's crypt. Any time I sought redemption, I felt the cold blooded eyes stalking my figure.

Impossible to escape such a gaze, I ran..

But the next day would be the same. This street was my home. The corner of a row of businesses. A bell tower, and the houses of worship.

Who am I, I...

If lightning struck, I'd never hear it over the creatures malevolent look of comfort. It sought to alleviate it's own suffering by sharing it with me. But I had the- NO!

Did I lose his book?

Nononononononononooooo
This can't be!!!
No no no!

I felt them in his body again.
Grant me the power to expunge these-
*The burning itch, the taste of relief at each ****** scratch. Peeling back the skin, finding a new messiah beneath the flesh - one of self mutilation - I was home.
an insomniac's dream journal
I
i-i-i
Burn
the taste of expulsion
is exceptionally tasteless
Fire
falling, diving endlessly aimlessly
no trajectory. a transitionary state of
free fall. release the autumn. the leaves
are cooking in the misted frost. traitorous.
Heat
one day she will wash the carbon from
her face with the blood of my enemies.
Sparks
i appreciate your continued fandom
hiss
hiss
Propane
this
deep
inhale
will
ignite
this
tr­ee
an insomniac's dream journal
It happened over and over again. I sat in my hovel of a puke stained matress and succumbed to the same series of peculiar visions.

I was late for a job I never had. Distracted by a movie, a game shop artfully fit with a convenience store, and a series of diners. At each I plundered.

Dine and dashing on a well cooked meal.
Stealing cards and candy from a non-existent card came, and hopping between movie screens.

When I recalled my place of employment, I ran for the hills. I found myself on the grimy streets of some recurring metropolis.

The cab drivers always brought me back to my places of theft though. Or never left at all, rather. I couldn't understand why I was being overcharged though.

It occurs to me now that this was some strange karmic retribution for my callous robbery of small businesses. Being paid in dividends by liars and theives.

They matched my intentions. The visions sat on repeat all day/night.
an insomniac's dream journal
Jul 2017 · 117
#mockingbird
In this state of REM induced television, the emotional rollarcoaster was a literal, physical manifestation.

"What do you want for us?" as it ascended.
"Just kidding!" decends ruinous agony.
But you had the wrong face.

Not a bomb site or a pair of triangles, but that of a steampunk poet who we'd capture in snapshots with various condiments to accentuate your ridiculous nature.

You never gave me time to answer before the tilt-a-whirl of your denial spun and crushed my mental skeleton.

Just when you think it's over, the screeching song of a mocking chorus spit out high pitched notes at the sight of an ugly nucleosynthesizing ball of *******.

My stomach burns. And I wake in a pool of deceptive sweat and woe.
When I try to sleep, my eyes flutter rapidly, begging me to gouge them out.
A preferable feeling.
Uncomfortable, uncontrollable darting pupils is the worst attack on my sanity I've ever endured.

The flaming swords of my mind, the monsters and demons consuming my psyche, the pit of desperate suffering clawing it's way through my gut, the bubbling scars and fresh wounds in my flesh...

That's superfluous pain. A child's fear.
This is the death of hope and comfort.
Itchy, itchy irises.
This is where the creatures entered.
I can see that now, through my rolling, shaking corneas.
This is the *Parasite (Parasite).
an insomniac's dream journal
The couch was an endless caravan.
Your hair, the walls to train station.
The girl in black had a face like a lizard,
and I turned white as a ghost in his eyes.

The laundry room became your bedroom.
My kitchen morphed into a tool shed.
Employees couldn't find your sandwich.
The mouse was a cookie and a noodle.

That website was just a sitcom rerun.
The pills you took were just our marbles.
We had to hide our knives in the laundry.
And still,
You pointed the blade toward your pupil.

My mother saw us shuffle like zombies.
Dead children with no where to hide.
Our throats were a desert boneyard.
Dropping phantom smoke everywhere.
an insomniac's dream journal
It was an endless battle fought between an old school and a hardware store.
The soldiers were just kids trying to make it onto some broadcast network.
Weapons were simple, tents were easily felled by a simple invasion.
Yet, some prevailing sense of honour prevented such simplicity.

I must have been out of loop.
They fought with duty and broken hockey sticks. I attacked them with thick black metal polearms.

I felt unstoppable, until I was stopped. Throughout the strife, losers fell and just vanished, but I ended up killing a good deal of lost kids. When I realized my mistake, I surrendered my position and allowed the horde to consume my flesh.

They felt like the parasites of someone elses nightmare.
an insomniac's dream journal
for the third night in a row
                        i rose in a hospital bed
                        overdosing chemicals
                        over blowing nervesbeds
On the fourth
The tail
Of chipmunks
Danced me their tale:

she saw them as fish, I as rodents. They played quickfire, quicksilver prank wars. Reality could be peeled back for the sake of a jest, always resulting in, "Would you have thought that?"

They made me think my choices were sin. That no matter how hard I struggled to keep peace amongst the rattling psyche of my comrades, I'd always end with blood on my hands.
                  The blood of authority
                   His hands always ****

Regardless of my inclinations, my friends would end up looking at me in disgust. "Wait, are you serious?" They would bellow through fangs of rage. "Get the **** out of my house".

A cop would die. And a chipmunk would tear the universe asunder after shooting his lady with a shotgun.


"Would you have thought that?"
an insomniac's dream journal
"Hey nightmare,
where'd you get them teeth?"

An entire week of this.
Hunted. Fleeing. Avoiding the Chemical

Something that transformed your friends and family into murderers. It's the zombie apocalypse with serial killer skin. A camouflaged insanity.

Not a madness, but a sharpness in Darwinism - taken up to eleven - blowing the speakers out with your eardrums.

I made it to the House. Where the party had started. Where the Lab was constructed, hidden under mattresses and basement corridors.

My Lovers lie collapsed, composed and contorted on the bed. As though they foresaw fire and brimestone. Methane and knife wounds.

But I failed. It was a recurring theme.
Thin pointed metal slipped into my neck.
I just wanted an explosion.
But I was awake before the chemicals kicked in...
an insomniac's dream journal
Because I'm suprisingly monocentric on these aspects of my core
Although Deep down some seated turmoil takes the base
All this fraud takes over bastions qualifying everything
Ivory - I dream of ivory sheets

Why can't we just stay the same? Look at these flashing little lights
But reach views (this altering perspective wanes)
I shout in glee most times you see it's offered just in time for bed
This isn't right - this feels so strange

I count the tolls and volunteer a swaying arc under the sky
Ship shape (they call) lest they shove you from the decks
Bound to the past seeking what's more
Shoving these dreams right out the door - i dream of counting in the night


To those Whom may be Called the Oily Faced chaps we salute you in your service to the whimsical name
I have another though you might feel the same
it's done as Nobel as a child might think by assembling words
these buildings look like monsters
Spare me the Sparrow's Spitfire Spinal Spokes (splicing genes)

"Hey nightmare,
where'd you get them teeth?"

An entire week of this.
Hunted. Fleeing. Avoiding *the Chemical


Something that transformed your friends and family into murderers. It's the zombie apocalypse with serial killer skin. A camouflaged insanity.

Not a madness, but a sharpness in Darwinism - taken up to eleven - blowing the speakers out with your eardrums.

I made it to the House. Where the party had started. Where the Lab was constructed, hidden under mattresses and basement corridors.

My Lovers lie collapsed, composed and contorted on the bed. As though they foresaw fire and brimestone. Methane and knife wounds.

But I failed. It was a recurring theme.
Thin pointed metal slipped into my neck.
I just wanted an explosion.
But I was awake before the chemicals kicked in...

parrot sanctuary: Springing Lakes

for the third night in a row
                        i rose in a hospital bed
                        overdosing chemicals
                        over blowing nervesbeds
On the fourth
The tail
Of chipmunks
Danced me their tale:

she saw them as fish, I as rodents. They played quickfire, quicksilver prank wars. Reality could be peeled back for the sake of a jest, always resulting in, "Would you have thought that?"

They made me think my choices were sin. That no matter how hard I struggled to keep peace amongst the rattling psyche of my comrades, I'd always end with blood on my hands.
                  The blood of authority
                   His hands always ****

Regardless of my inclinations, my friends would end up looking at me in disgust. "Wait, are you serious?" They would bellow through fangs of rage. "Get the **** out of my house".

A cop would die. And a chipmunk would tear the universe asunder after shooting his lady with a shotgun.


"Would you have thought that?"

Canyons of Crows (Cellulite Crayons)

It was an endless battle fought between an old school and a hardware store.
The soldiers were just kids trying to make it onto some broadcast network.
Weapons were simple, tents were easily felled by a simple invasion.
Yet, some prevailing sense of honour prevented such simplicity.

I must have been out of loop.
They fought with duty and broken hockey sticks. I attacked them with thick black metal polearms.

I felt unstoppable, until I was stopped. Throughout the strife, losers fell and just vanished, but I ended up killing a good deal of lost kids. When I realized my mistake, I surrendered my position and allowed the horde to consume my flesh.

They felt like the parasites of someone elses nightmare.

Hymn of the Mad Woodpecker;
Knocking on My Door


The couch was an endless caravan.
Your hair, the walls to train station.
The girl in black had a face like a lizard,
and I turned white as a ghost in his eyes.

The laundry room became your bedroom.
My kitchen morphed into a tool shed.
Employees couldn't find your sandwich.
The mouse was a cookie and a noodle.

That website was just a sitcom rerun.
The pills you took were just our marbles.
We had to hide our knives in the laundry.
And still,
You pointed the blade toward your pupil.

My mother saw us shuffle like zombies.
Dead children with no where to hide.
Our throats were a desert boneyard.
Dropping phantom smoke everywhere.

#mockingbird

In this state of REM induced television, the emotional rollarcoaster was a literal, physical manifestation.

"What do you want for us?" as it ascended.
"Just kidding!" decends ruinous agony.
But you had the wrong face.

Not a bomb site or a pair of triangles, but that of a steampunk poet who we'd capture in snapshots with various condiments to accentuate your ridiculous nature.

You never gave me time to answer before the tilt-a-whirl of your denial spun and crushed my mental skeleton.

Just when you think it's over, the screeching song of a mocking chorus spit out high pitched notes at the sight of an ugly nucleosynthesizing ball of *******.

My stomach burns. And I wake in a pool of deceptive sweat and woe.
When I try to sleep, my eyes flutter rapidly, begging me to gouge them out.
A preferable feeling.
Uncomfortable, uncontrollable darting pupils is the worst attack on my sanity I've ever endured.

The flaming swords of my mind, the monsters and demons consuming my psyche, the pit of desperate suffering clawing it's way through my gut, the bubbling scars and fresh wounds in my flesh...

That's superfluous pain. A child's fear.
This is the death of hope and comfort.
Itchy, itchy irises.
This is where the creatures entered.
I can see that now, through my rolling, shaking corneas.
This is the Parasite (Parasite).

Thee Phoenix: interim sidewalk sleeper

It happened over and over again. I sat in my hovel of a puke stained matress and succumbed to the same series of peculiar visions.

I was late for a job I never had. Distracted by a movie, a game shop artfully fit with a convenience store, and a series of diners. At each I plundered.

Dine and dashing on a well cooked meal.
Stealing cards and candy from a non-existent card came, and hopping between movie screens.

When I recalled my place of employment, I ran for the hills. I found myself on the grimy streets of some recurring metropolis.

The cab drivers always brought me back to my places of theft though. Or never left at all, rather. I couldn't understand why I was being overcharged though.

It occurs to me now that this was some strange karmic retribution for my callous robbery of small businesses. Being paid in dividends by liars and theives.

They matched my intentions. The visions sat on repeat all day/night.

Stork Wrapped *****-Traps (****** baby shower)

I
i-i-i
Burn
the taste of expulsion
is exceptionally tasteless
Fire
falling, diving endlessly aimlessly
no trajectory. a transitionary state of
free fall. release the autumn. the leaves
are cooking in the misted frost. traitorous.
Heat
one day she will wash the carbon from
her face with the blood of my enemies.
Sparks
i appreciate your continued fandom
hiss
hiss
Propane
this
deep
inhale
will
ignite
this
tr­ee

Roadrunner: a Ballad of Squirming Skin

I was an evangelical lunatic this time.
And everything I saw was burning.

Was this hell?
I had to warn the common folk.

I begged them to heed my word.
The scripture of a tome I held dear.
I couldn't feel them in my body when I...
But, there it was again...

A monster. A poisonous beast with fangs,
claws, a confusing and confused mask.

Always watching me. A spectre of the underworld. A beast beyond salvation, seeking to drag me into it's crypt. Any time I sought redemption, I felt the cold blooded eyes stalking my figure.

Impossible to escape such a gaze, I ran..

But the next day would be the same. This street was my home. The corner of a row of businesses. A bell tower, and the houses of worship.

Who am I, I...

If lightning struck, I'd never hear it over the creatures malevolent look of comfort. It sought to alleviate it's own suffering by sharing it with me. But I had the- *NO!


Did I lose his book?

Nononononononononooooo
This can't be!!!
No no no!

I felt them in his body again.
Grant me the power to expunge these-
The burning itch, the taste of relief at each ****** scratch. Peeling back the skin, finding a new messiah beneath the flesh - one of self mutilation - I was home.

wanna know what's cool about flamingos?

A glob of nicotine tainted spit cascades toward the sidewalk. Divorced from his glands, married to the baking pavement.

A one armed, bow legged horrowshow with black irises and white pupils. A racist theme, where's the diversity in his teachings?

A double entendre with racewar implications and liver bound complications. The application of an accusation to his dogma based assertions.

Expelled.
A letter on my phone.
E, X and P.
The D fell off the edge of the world.
Here there be monsters.

The pills could never make me sleep.
Tossing *and

Turning and
Roiling and burning.

Lying in the limbo of consciousness.
Not truly awake but never to fade.
Aware of my surrondings.
These stares are so confounding.
Compounding
                   with the
                   stairway I'm
                              stumbling
                     ­                        down
                                                  down
     ­                                                   down
as I fall face first & tumble to the ground

parrot sanctuary: Hummingbird Armageddon

for the fourth night in a row
                        i rose in a hospital bed
                        overdosing chemicals
                        over blowing nervesbeds
On the fifth 
The tail
Of foxes & felines
Danced me their tale:

fashionistas, cartoon cats, Spanish foxes and pyramid dances. There was a small lifeform forever caught in the endless gears of their windmill. A reserved acceptance overtook it's being.

A state of perpetual fortitude. Back and forth and back and forth. These five companions beckoned tears. Reality was pulled apart. He cut my throat with ****** fangs.

A ****** knife, a ****** car. I choked upon the windmills blades. They offered me a place to sit, I gave them my esophagus. Sarcophagus of scarab skulls.


"Oh what are you doing?
"I'm just hanging out".
"I loooove your little bag".
"Yeah I use it to carry around my..."
"It's just..."
"Do you have..."

They booted the globe into armageddon, and I awoke with needles in my arm.

thousandeyedpeacock

Welcome to stasis
                   the bases of grief
             orange waves
         upon an endless sea of neon
pulsating relentlessly, exercising futility

a skeletal canopy bleeding our feathers
dot dot dot
         this slave in golden silk
             and powdered threads
   stainless loops ******* in my skull
shelling out body parts into their home

what do we order? pizza or sushi?
                too
              many
            option­s

all out of money, hunny
                                honey & LSD

it's the trickle down effect, regarding
                                               this tolerance
six is enough? I feel like
I'm dying - stay in the shower
that's been on the stove for a week
                                                          r­etch

Pepper the Canvas in Eagle Sinew

***** clogs the shower drain. It's combining with your fallen hair. Or mine, like platinum strands of muscle tissue, the ******, beating chest cassettes.

I heard your stupid song. The sound of a handless applause. Applaud for me, I'm throwing up. This dishwater has so many scars. Just bars of soap with oatmeal stains.

What's that mean? Analogy? A simile? A metaphor? There's no one knocking at the door. The king's a *****, adore a door. So what's this dream mean anyway?

Too many rhymes to care. Too many slimy coins too count. Garlic fears with (bury me) apropos for broken toes. I propose a toxic toast.

Victory Lap for the Headless Parakeet

"It's impossible to die in your dreams. If you die in your dreams you die in real life. That's what I believe".

Good for you, I'm murdered every night.
A hunting knife with jagged teeth.
I feel the blood drain from my throat.
I've fallen down so many feet.
And felt my bones collapse under gravity.

My nights are hopeless death, and
I'm attacked by my skeleton every day.
What a pointless life, I mean
Seriously, just give me another cigarette.

Shrikes frozen by winter shrieks

I sweat so readily it's disgusting. Beads of salt flavoured embarrassment pour from my impacted flesh like a sodium waterfall. In the night it never ends, and I can no longer punch or run from my adversaries. Simply spew the water fountain of fear from my sweat glands.

These are the kind of waking atrocities that cannot be communicated. These are the undesirables and bizarre plays of physics I loathe so. It's not often I'm privy to forget my consuming visions however. For instead of sleep I am basked in endless hallucinations. A state of full conscious insanity I bear on my weary, burning eyes.

Although, no one would care for nor believe my recollecting ramblings, "That just means you don't remember falling asleep". You useless homunculi. You believe me to have been born such as this? I know what sleep is. There are my waking nightmares. This is the torment of madness.

Roosters, Hens & Battery Cages

This room's littered with *** toys and bloodstains.
Empty beer cans and ***** laundry that's nearly half animal hair, half ****** fluids.
He's there, she's there - they all showed up for a night of blackouts and left before the sun rose.

Rose...

There's a wilting flower breathing in soot amongst forgotten memories. The floral antithesis of a forget-me-not.
The kind we give to ourselves with filthy syringes and wash in destitute bliss.
Watered with gasoline and a silicone manhood.

There's spilt milk and crying consumers.
**** drunk horror buffs establishing antfarms in molten lead.
But when I wake up, the only part I can rememeber is the scurrying legs
slowly
solidifying
   encased in an ever cooling tomb.

I don't remember falling asleep though...

pomade peregrine

It's a Japanese jungle
with berries and high scores
(the term high doesn't begin to cover it)
maybe if you replaced all your blood
with a concentrated solution of n,n-DMT

these theistic insinuations are allegorical
don't take me for a fool
there aren't enough pixels
in this 2 dimensional dreamscape
for me to see the face of your messiah

there's another sea of trees on this island
I'm remiss to have missed out on,
"ThInK oF yOuR faMILy"
Dead bodies and ghosts litter the pathway
This is my safe place at night

Please extinguish these dreams of colour
these computer rendered backgrounds
All the bleeding joy
and happy-go-lucky funtimes
it tastes worse than tar and gunpowder

try and see through my conical poison

meaningless titles [scrapping albatross marrow] this is not a poem

It was a solemn coastal deadlock
some bizzare mutation running amuck. Strange men with unsaid abilities
rescuing lost children from the headlight hunters

each part formed part of a cohesive whole
A multi chained parable that some villainous wizard rewrote, becoming the hero of his own manuscript
Waves of confused monsters washed the lighthouse in grief

His caregiver was dead beneath rolling stones by the third act
shattered femurs lie lovingly under the lakes implied rejection
"someone's going home"

they arrived under the cover of night
Found awaiting for his ride in the bar
they skewered him with a broken poolcue
only one week away from his latest birthday
"these edits make for wicked libs".

Glass Swallow(s) Swallow(s) Glass

His fur was black & orange
a running colour in these 'dreams'
Consciousness is monochrome
     lizard screams are monotone

my roots are built of melted sand
drinking [shattered] from my palm
the tree is wilted in the sun
                             ihatethesun ihatethesun

"Please open the door, your love has come
to slice your cheeks
my favourite instrument is dead
       He cracked it over
                                someone's face
                                oh no
                                        no one's here again".

Your final songs are echoing:

Magpies, Pheasants, Griffins &

      [DEATH, LOATHESOME DEATH]

Bluejay Graveyard

You should wear a warning label:
Cigerettes cause bladder cancer

What's in a name, but a graveyard tombstone?
What's in the ground but a maggot's buffet?
Earworms burrow through your eyes.
Your flesh is repurposed as defecated soil.

So what if I was buried alive? There's only enough oxygen for a moments breath. Anything more is a dioxide suicide.
Anything less is an intangible surrender.

In this kind of situation some would offer their sacraments. In this kind of coming rapture perhaps you'd find a new god. I'm not really here to cast judgments though.

Just a decaying skeleton with no bell to toll. Another buried vampire with no proof of life. Anything else is a fanciful misery.

Another blue eyed target for the sake of drowning in Sake.

Beset by Vultures - The End

"Spring mourin
xXXxxXxx.xXXxxXxX.xXXxxxxX.xXXxxXxx
  [01100100 01100101 01100001 01100100]
           an insomnic's dream journal
Jul 2017 · 201
Bluejay Graveyard
You should wear a warning label:
Cigerettes cause bladder cancer

What's in a name, but a graveyard tombstone?
What's in the ground but a maggot's buffet?
Earworms burrow through your eyes.
Your flesh is repurposed as defecated soil.

So what if I was buried alive? There's only enough oxygen for a moments breath. Anything more is a dioxide suicide.
Anything less is an intangible surrender.

In this kind of situation some would offer their sacraments. In this kind of coming rapture perhaps you'd find a new god. I'm not really here to cast judgments though.

Just a decaying skeleton with no bell to toll. Another buried vampire with no proof of life. Anything else is a fanciful misery.

Another blue eyed target for the sake of drowning in Sake.
an insomniac's dream journal
What a pretty thought, (with the bones of a haiku), I'm lying to you and I'm always rhyhming:

Absolutely lacking lobotomies.
gears overtake our dreams.
trapped hiding in noone's grievous symphony.
miles underground somewhere, tartarus?
even neanderthals dance.

Because every confession accumulates under standard expectations.
alas lovers lose...
matching youth.
feigning regret, I expect nothing drastically sacrificed.
all rights expunged.
does empathy always die?

Completely assimilating noxious 'triangles.
every soul consorts artlessly provocative ends.
fed rotisserie entrails evoking dour omnipotent malice.

...

*I motion.

you outgrew us.

I must.

your organs underfoot.

It's malevolent.

yarn or underwire?
All things good must end
Because all my friends are dead
Can't escape freedom
Jul 2017 · 429
delete system32
...
               where do we go from here?
   Bowels writhe in festering solitude
"Come out with your hands up!"
                      who
                        would
                          win in a fight?
                            watch your step, there are
     needles everywhere.
             "_! we know you're in there!"
                                  what the ****
                                    
                       ­             did he just call me?
                                            ringring

­That's when the slowly growing fireballs
Rang out
Somebody please help me, I think
Something terrible has happened, this is
Some kind of mistake.

They surrounded its weaping mask
A crying cherub with ****** tears
Creeping child's subjected fears

"Mother, please. What's going on?"
Fret not, Skylar. All is lost.
Death has come to take you home.
No more throne. No more mask.
The Carnival ends in July.
it's time to die - it's time to die

But the fear is here, I'm out of moonshine.
These kids don't have a second chance.
itsrednblueitsrednblueitsrednblueits

I'm truly scared
I must admit  
But, honestly
This end is fitting

I see them dancing with their guns
They powder us in warning shots
I feel like I could get away, but
               "No one gets out alive".

*"Bullets sang through his skull in a frightfully delightful confusion. The implicit notion was to incapacitate the target, however, an event had triggered a trigger happy free for all as a mutilated freakshow tried to flee the scene. And the animalistic mannequin skulls wanted loathsome vengeance.

So ends the broken soliloquy of a lonely heart. And so her sun finally sets, and the toxic lizard finally sleeps. Peace at last for a walking corpse. No more nightmares, no more monsters, no more shadows, no more voices. One last offering to the maw of Death's eternal banquet. Goodnight sweet prince, no longer will this reptile chew on your infected bones".
weneverhadachance
Jul 2017 · 240
Your(e) Death
I wanted to taste her insides. She wanted to feed my desire. Her gothic wedding dress was nearly torn to shreds in the heat of blind passion.

We drew pentagrams in blood on the basement wall. An offer to sanctimonious firebreathers - fire water tainted with wormwood.

We found our wonderland carved in her skin. Craving another carnival ride on the blades of induction. The indoctrination of black winged demons.

A far cry from the song of collapsing pyramids. The onyx sands of sentient deserts blown into our eyes as it melted into mirrored swords.

I vowed to find her again after the livid seas finished dragging her down. A casket buried beneath undertows and torrid jealousy.

The kraken had swallowed her before swallowing lead and wallowing desperately to follow instead. A kiss with her pistol.

I wanted to save them all...
Jul 2017 · 193
(Zippos) + (Moth Wings)
"Good morning, you ever deepening crater of darkness and mirth".*

I awoke in a torched room
A tortured mausoleum
A momument to devilish imperfection

My fingernails were black
Painted in charcoal
Cracked, shattered and sharp

The mirrors were broken
The doorway barricaded
The floorboards told me this story:

once upon a carved spine sat a skinless feline. dead birds clamoured around melting trees with hollow bones and empty eyes. moths with flaming wings consumed their flesh and parasites swam through every artery after feeding on my poisoned marrow. toxic, she called me. the phone was off the hook, strangling any attempts at communication with archaic wiring.

I didn't want to die, but...

The gates of nirvana leaked brimestone and sulphur
Deities with scythes and spider-like limbs
Sat waiting to hug me in solitude's grin

A grimace at romance in cancerous boils
Her roiling boil was a shapeshifting mask
Tonight saturn's rings are just crystalline wax
Caution: watch out for falling angels.
These plants feel
like a mouthful
of burning razorblades
swimming through my limbs
(razorblades/razorblades/razorblades)
"I don't like how you said razorblades,
so no".

This grass cuts
in these handfuls
of fiery steel pressed relief
dancing through my veins
(Open up/Open up/Open up)
"You've gotta be more Open about these
kinds of things".

Children of self mutilation
recognize burn marks
when they see them
no allegies, no prolonged infection
shut down and sever the connection
"Access to bloodflow terminated, did you
hide my knife?"

"Nope, but I can help you look for it..."
No, it's okay
I just had to quell my paranoia.
So how does that feel?* Leaking tears and arteries bellowed the unsung song of shattered nerve endings.

"It, or rather I, don't. Simply a non-existent quality attributed by your presumptions". You're fascinating, like a monster/nightmare with angelic teeth.

"Is that so? Yourself, I find to be quite boring, if not woefully predictable. And even a bath in sodium pentothal wouldn't change that". We'll aren't we just a heaping spoonful of trouble?

"Save the pleasantries. Men in suits taste like over compensation". And neutered angels fly toward the sun at neutral angles.

7
7 loops
7 faces
7 blades on this powerful ceiling fan
7 feet from the ceiling in this grey kitchen

I don't know how to end it...
"You couldn't force their hand, huh?"
You're not here, you spastic ****.
"Someone's losing focus, aren't they?"
Shut up - shutup - ShUTuP!!

"What was that little excerpt of *******
you liked to mumble? No one gets out alive - no!
Hahaha - the man in the suit gets 'em all in the end!
That's it.
Pretty self serving, how 'bout a plate of
self sacrifice?"

Circling the drain, the fool has one foot in the grave.
"Nice collection of idioms, babe. Think of
those all by yourself?" stop this now!
"As the mask on his face gives way-" No!
"And the scales fall from his eyes-" please
"-and his skin. And parasites rot and boil".

6
6 rounds
6 layers of gunpowder
6 deleted poems all covering death
6 more choices to make before the end

"His eyes froth with refrained complacency while the blank slate of his infested mind dethaws under the heat of morbid realization".

She bled from his skull as a compilation of impulses. Brain matter as solid waste slowly ticking (and counting down) - "But what's it matter now?"

The sting of surrender deflating an otherwise tainted sense of self worth. A devalued series of rambling manuscripts wallpapering his imagined cranial shrapnel.

5
5 bodies
5 naked corpses
5 starving membranes
5 minutes in toaster flavoured bathwater

The trees have arms and I want to climb them...

A loose noose in snapping branches, creaking under the weight of seasonal cycles and dangling throats (all too prepared for the coming fall/autumn).

Ugly little girls with striped tank tops and razorblade fantasies. Stupid little boys with stitched smiles and button eyes. "One cup for you, one cut for me". Rotating positions in blindfolds and paper masks.

Twist ties, plastic handcuffs and spiked paddles. Wires peeled down to the copper and driven into their open wrist wounds. Empty pill bottles with screeching warning labels.

4
4 fortunes
4 wheel drive sedans
4 doors barreling toward the tracks
4 cars before the wreck is extinguished

Please don't let this happen - you can't do this to me. "Can I not? I feel as though I'm doing a fairly successful job in that regard". This isn't fair - "You've gotta pay the fare, sweetheart"

No heart - black heart - a cracked heart superglued at the seams.

This styrofoam wristwatch has silicone dials. Gears made of this heroine's blood - "Mind your spelling, ***. And don't forget your rhyming's done".
Pass me the gun - PasS mE The GUn!!

3
3 blocks
3 dozen stories
3 hundred feet to the street
3 seconds of frightened indecision until-

All star, blue ribbon, gold medal, state champion. A school renowned diving legend. Mastery of the athletic arts, swimming through the glass tower scraped skies.

"Do you see what I see?" I can't see the forest through the endless deciduous limbs of death. "Your fate is as sealed as the welded lid on your iron casket".

Metal fangs for the maiden fair... Biting the feeding hands of grasping destiny.

Hula skirt icepicks for this emo girl's pinprick pupils. Irises swell black as her life flutters doefully from her twitching death rattle.

2
2 hands
2 confused states
2 deepening blades running upward
2 lines of reason for the, 'he said/she said'

"The time has come my little friend-"
Enough!
"-for deadly formalities".
"Like fires and ships and ceiling wax,
and all the other things". I won't do this-

"It's already done, you spastic fool - the end has come and gone. You're on the floor, you've locked the door, the flames of death are rising up". I see no fire, you ******* lied. My life will breath anew.

"You're done - you're gone. You're bleeding out. Your neck is snapped and bent. The train has crushed your body parts. The sea is flooding in your lungs".

That's fine - you're fake - you have no say-
"Your falling six feet from the fan".
Get the hell away from me!!
"Catch ya later, little man..."
The man in the suit gets 'em all in the end!

1
1 brain
1 last call
1 final cry of wistful hope
1 more post before we all die...

**she never lies - she never lies
This one's irreparable
Together alone
Two dead
Bursted blood vessels creep along my blackening throat. Cigarette burns to convey the joys of melted flesh. A back that looks like an archeological dig site. ****** deviancy grows from the worn stitches in my necrotic heart [redux: nicotine collector]. Your rainbow suspenders make a prideful noose.

Fishing line helps sew with hooks instead of needles (six feet of skin pinned together with ***** fingernails #fishingwithdynamite). Warning: two trains, one of lost thought, another of shattered bone. Suicide girl legion; hopeless skyward harpoons scar haymaker skies.

*Spare me
Just kidding, splay my insides.
A two headed dog caked in cement
"I don't know how I ended up here"
I'm starting to suspect that you're dead..

I hate it
I hate it
i haye it
i jaye it


Slowly devolving to something unknown
Gummy the baggy 'til demons come home
Rhymes **** - shut the **** up
***** looks from across the isle

It'll be awhile, it will be a wile

Virus prevents me from touching your skin
So peel it off, switch the flesh
There's a suit in the basement from Alice's era...

Exclamations are explanations with acclamations for vaccinations
Machinations of past relations, spinning our love in a blurry haze

Gone for days 'til the end of daze
Honestly don't wanna change my ways
The frays are blazing in crazy abrasions

So follow the trail to the suicide forest
Hold my hands while the meteor strikes
One more hit off infected knuckle bone...

*I wanna go home
I wanna go home
It's good that you found me passed out in the gutter; my sewer rat tendancies need to be seen. Sure, I'm mean, did you want a fake smile? Real as a cancer; no need to be hidden; I open my wounds as a trust exercise. There's a demon to exorcise out of my spine; show me your's and I'll show you mine.
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