the lie of beauty
is the thorn behind the petals of rose
its the downpour pouring from overcast skies
its the death behind the stillness of winter
its there in our sleep
the lie of beauty
is the salary man working towards that ring
its the starving artist starving for the sake of starving
its the fragrant smell of flower
sought for by pulsating multitudes of bees
the lie of beauty
is that it makes life worth living
and imbues purpose to pursuit
tis the assumption that it lives
its the non sequitur resistance to the universe
and it's Brownian motion
the beauty of the lie called beauty
is that it makes something
from the very context of nothing
Dec 19, 2025
Dec 19, 2025 at 12:20 AM UTC
i would never leave you
till death do his part
and clutch me from your dying hands
prying me out of your will
i want to be your everything
till death do his part
to live in the space between your ears
and the vacuum inside your heart
when the smoke clears your lungs
i will fit it back in
till you choke on me
yet hesitate to spit me out
i would be lying if i said i loved you
i would be lying if i said you did too
yet in this space of uncertainty
the slipped constrictor between us tightens
till death do us part
we shall do each other's part to him
Dec 18, 2025
Dec 18, 2025 at 7:59 AM UTC
Santa won't come this year
cause he has to pay his taxes this year
or pretend to pay
or he could not come next year
because gifts don't slip between iron bars
Santa won't come this year
he has his hands full
and his stomach open
he doesn't need to eat
he absorbs all competition
See Santa won't come any year
because he doesn't live on the north pole
he lives in a Chinese factory
that's why he wears red
and has so many elves
Santa won't come this year
because you've been a naughty boy
because you didn't close your eyes
or have faith in his magic
when he slid down you chimney
and ate all you cookies and drank all your milk
and broke all your toys
because you don't have faith you see
because every good time of yours
has to be build on the aching backs
of people no one will ever see
because Santa never comes any year
he just appears in your eyes
to make you happy
about throwing that little plastic wrapper in the trash
like it won't ever choke you
Dec 17, 2025
Dec 17, 2025 at 11:38 AM UTC
the sirens in my head
have all blown out their fuses
and the scrolls of ancient texts
have all runs out of excuses
but river heads never stop
they never to cease to confuse us
the lines carved in the earth
can't nullify their ruses
like a stone that hit my head
and ruined all my music
and the engines painted red
that beg for me to still do this
the light that's pierced my head
has gone straight through me
don't drag me out of bed
don't assault me with new muses
Dec 17, 2025
Dec 17, 2025 at 6:16 AM UTC