Back and forth in repetition
Trapped in a twilight's shaking embolism
Asunder is the father envisioned
Atrophied arms locked at the behest of a child christened
Lives intersect and for a moment, love is born
Trials are created and for the first time a name is worn
Among the quiet of involuntary matricide a promise is signed and sworn
Familial pain meets the curses of life
Perennial anguish clenches blood soaked sheets and for the first time, hate is born in the twists of umbilical strife
Heartbroken and greiving next to a pallid flame that's smothered and lifeless
Here, for the first time, tragedy is born
A new dawn so precious it's fire kept close, buried in the sternum of a giant secured in an indentured embrace
It's here, for the first time, a god is born
May 31, 2019
May 31, 2019 at 1:14 PM UTC
Depression is a kind of home for me. Winter is the season I come home.
©anthonyasylum
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 1:22 AM UTC
There is something violent about how I see the skin on your body
Its so rich and smooth, almost decadent and unlike you
This observation turns into a premeditation when you touch my cheek
Its almost like i can feel the heat melting off your bones
As I laid you down and slipped a knife underneath your sternum
You whispered something hidden in painful tones like a sharp breath piercing the guttural moans
But I dont need to hear words to know the searing desire steaming from your guts as I replaced them with hot stones
The blood on your finger tips remind me of fresh water on leaves after a storm and your severed head looks like its been through famine, disease, and a damaged city plagued and war torn
Yet there is still beauty in the decayed decadence that is your mutilated corpse
The moonlight drowns in the canal of blood begging for remorse while the insects march and sing a song of things that can only get worse
©anthonyasylum
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 5:06 AM UTC
Lay down this night
Try not to fight
Night terrors shepherd a blighted terror insight
Get through this flashing fright and wake up with another mental lashing akin to febral crashing
Every kid's born with a light
And as kid the dreams gripped mine tight
Eye lids fall to sleep
Fadeing into shades blacker than black
Seamlessly brought back
Seeing the dark move, coming closer to kiss my cheek
Choking on fear I couldn't get out a peep
Eye lids peeled and tacked on the tourtures rack
Afraid to see my family die I'd cover my face with invisible hands
So much hell inside my brain
I'm forced to watch as my sister's would fall and smear wherever it lands
How can a kid see so much when he sleeps?
Waking up afraid I would go to school unaware it was real life
Feeling dissolved, broken, school was like chopping at a tree with a dull knife
Live my day and proceed to lay my head down
Pillows and blankets comfort but cannot support the torture when my heads bound
Tears in the eyes knowing the nightmares are always around
knowing I'm not crazy as I feel voices with no sound
At some point I accepted this is how I am
Night after night, horrid beings and terrible stories unfolded like the buckled spine that's scraped into a body bag after singing forty storeys to the ground
©anthonyasylum
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 12:49 PM UTC
There is no escape from yourself once you turn seven shades of blue
You can scream at death and brush away the leaves but your grave will always have a body that decieves even after being filled with sawdust and glue
Bound to anger and rebellion you struggled to let anyone in
Bindings so tight, fingers turned black like that night
Screaming, crying, attempted flailing
You tried so hard to not give up the fight
You succumbed to the blight
Your mom couldn't even recognize the cold leather bound over these bones that are told to be you
Malnutrition claimed stake to the body
Amphetamines numbed the mind and caused leishons to start rotting
No escape in death
No escaping breath
Hollowed head from a chest filled with ****
Your life shrunk, grew diseased and immature
Beaten senseless and tied to the headboard
Did you suffer? No one can say for sure
Buried with little more than the foegiviness of a closed casket and the permanantness of an abused life
The only memento you'll carry on is the form fitted ligature marks and consciousness derived of strife
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 5:42 PM UTC
There's distant scratching like strings on a loose violin and rain shattering against the hood of a shambling man passing me from a place I've never been.
This night seems to bring a comfortable chaos like the sound of a dying drum inside a weaning rib cage with the wind that screams through trees mimicking a wheezing child's vocal range.
Each step forward is a chant from an old god and each drop of blood is a sip from the paradigm, voices scream and hiss from the nearby fog while I climb down a mountain I've never climbed.
Bones snap and buckel while fingers curl and twist, blistering skin ***** that insects suckle and searing eyes that unfurl and wince.
There are things worse than nightmares, like an orchestra without strings or a breath without voice. Something simple to grasp but impossible to understand if you live without choice.
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 11:41 PM UTC
I'm a giant surviving on scraps from smaller hands, an Atlas without a known purpose living amongst Noam Chomskies and Ayne Rands, scrounging around this philosophical symphony for somthing hidden in the slaughterhouse of lambs.
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 2:59 PM UTC
Weather or not you want to thrive or just get by, there's that will to survive that we can't escape and it keeps us naive and blind.
Dangers keep us locked up and treated as strangers while reason is a mystery we search for in gangrenous church mangers and pound our proud heads against a cross till it craters.
Something earned is something lost and something we already have is nothing we can gain.
A bleak outlook gives advice to take a step back, not to take the other direction but to reclaim stepping stones as a momento of the life that we lack.
Like dawning a black coat while trying to infiltrate witches and ghouls unaware that your the monster in a makeshift faćade handing out nooses by the spools.
After which defending yourself on facts without merit to a town only left with fools.
What you can claim as facts are someone else's theories and someones reasoning is another person's fallacy.
The Noose is inductive to reasoning, in a world so free it's no wonder why The Noose makes such a perfect seasoning.
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 4:39 PM UTC
My poetry is open and bare on the examination table
While my brain falls into place in the exsanguination cradle
Pieces fit together like a monster from the old world fables
Set up to disassociate the Cains from the Ables
We're all meant to die
There's no harm in asking why
Self harm, drugs left in the arms, premeditation, self incrimination
It won't matter when we're stitched up in a Y
Theres hidden meanings in every line
A chance to put aside all the woes and keep feelings burning inside
When things are on the decline
I can write down facts and theories
Like self investigation as to why I'm feeling weary
No Overbearing intoxication here just a rough cut heart of ice melting due to overheating and slipping liquidation
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 6:08 PM UTC
How many angels have I shed to make way for the demons in my head?
How many bodies have I eaten and abused in my bed as I look for the lost love in my sheets that only shows when its red.
A poem of love and death, a tale of lust and hate, this is a crime of passion led astray.
Skin like a doves breath, a voice of trust and filled with hope and fate, one day the beauty and art of you will help me find my way.
Even if it means our death is to be the outcome of a beautifully painful day.
Nov 12, 2016
Nov 12, 2016 at 7:02 PM UTC