Lascivious feel of a man
misguided in his triumphs
enthralled with his disasters
Self-inflicted are the scars
Invisible to the eye
But he sees them
Vague imprint of a face he knew
Engraved in his consciousness
Chiseled by affection
Memory of an effigy
Vaulting spasms to the mid
It's an infection
Struggling for air
Desperate to grasp a branch
Long since cremated
Suffocating infection
Chokes him
An echo of affection
Torments him
Cloistering rejection
Roots him in place
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 8:55 PM UTC
The feel of the vehicle, bitter from the night
Blue light on the dash
Whirring of gears as the glass rolls
Eight air fresheners hang loose from the mirror
Holding on to your memory
Grabbing for the pack of death
And lighting another nail in the coffin
reticence clawing at his ears
The memory of your mirth fueling the fire
Indigestion strikes like a knife to the side
Held by your slender hand
The laughter shared obsesses the heart
Beating with such vigor and plight
Mind tripping on compromised pasts
Tender is the ghoul from the nail
Circling his head like a noose
Bound by your memory
In remembering solace
To ease his concern
Taking comfort in his rusted cage
Seat embracing him
Upholstered in stained fabric
Shedding light on shadowed nights of old
His memory of you fades
No longer lancinating
No longer choking
In taking solace in the void that has become your memory
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
Day and night
One forever chasing the other
Elevation to base level
Naturally trying to reach that comfortable low
Positive and negative
Trying to balance the chaos
Shadow and light
One cannot exist without the other
Matter produced in a black hole
Still has an anti-matter counter part to settle their chaotic existence
Quantum coupling
The idea that particles that are smaller than our problems can be linked and effected together in real time
You and I
We thought this was it
We figured the chaos was organized
That the day and the night coexisted in a beautiful coalescence
That the creek stopped flowing and made a lovely pool to swim in
That this black hole called our lives had stopped *******
I assumed things were peachy because you seemed happy
But then the moon ran away, the sun to forever chase it
A crack formed and the pool began to flow again
And that hole called my life began to slowly spin
And devour the colors in my days
Leaving only black and white
And
Days and nights
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 1:46 AM UTC
Is that it?
Are there no more words worth saying?
Could it be
That all my cuts and gashes
Have scabbed?
Is that it?
Is that where I derive my words?
From the old stubborn pain
Of a heart in shards?
Is my ink not simply
My life blood pouring out?
Is that it?
Is it so sad that I need
To hurt in order to spill rhymes?
Is it worth it to pick at old wounds
Just so I can make a bit of
Self indulgent art?
Is that it?
Does my mind simply become
Stagnant when it has no
Negative input?
Can't I write when I'm full?
Can't I write when I'm happy?
Can't I write whenever I want, regardless to how you left me?
Is that it?
A question I asked myself over and over
Is that it?
The only person willing to listen
To my pleas was an inanimate
Pad of college rule?
Is that it?
Is it?
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 2:42 AM UTC
Born under Artemus
To the mother, Nemesis
Born to fight against
The hounds of hell
Has earned his company
In the temple of villainy
Has earned his place
Among the lore
For the lore be written
To include the villians
For the lore be not a judge
To cast shame on him
His actions have bound
His fate with the hounds
His actions will decide
Which road to chase
Which sends his soul
To a heart once his own
Which sends his mind
Into insanity
His state on the plane,
A strange domain
His state on the dais
A pawn to the fates
Who allow him to rectify
His mistakes in life
Who allow the hounds
To snap their jaws
At the gates of hell
With a familiar swell
At the gates of Hades
With a heart of hatred
With a beautiful prize
Held up with pride
With a beautiful emptiness
Caused by vengeance
The hounds snap their jaws
And click their claws
The hounds move aside
To grant his passage
Into the forever abyss
That is born from hate
Into the forever
His name, Eucledes.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 2:32 AM UTC
I met an eccentric fisherman today
He was five foot five with a beard
Seven foot seven
As gant as the pole in his hands
And more bronze than my shower taps
He had a salty grin and six black teeth
'Ye fancy fish, interior boy?'
S sounds whisled
'Aye got one ere for ye then lad'
It floundered in my tender land hands
It's gills flapped open like window blinds
'Relinquish me boy'
'Wet my skin in the waters of home,
And I'll trade a desire for my freedom'
I gazed at the fisherman
He had disappeared
'Release this fish and I'll grant
The deepest wish for ye, small ant.
For my power is great'
I'm hungry, powerfish
I haven't eaten for days
Could you give me that?
'A simple wish, a gift most easily given
Drop me boy and you'll taste heaven'
It floundered
Water splashed my face as the fish
Swam away from the shore.
Where is my meal, oh powerfish?
'Fool hearted boy, simpleton left hungry
Never trust fish or else ye angry
Enjoy the hunger lad
I'm the tastiest fish you could have had!'
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 2:42 AM UTC
It's hard to stay hopeful
Hopefull hope full
Hope
The adamant, stubborn desire for something better
Or something more
And being full of it can leave you
Full of ****
Who are you kidding?
What a joke it must be
To maintain hope when staring down shame
And dismay
But you have to remain hopeful
Get a fresh glass of the ambrosia
And fill up on hope
So much hope that your ****
is saturated in dreams
And turn that frown upside down
Hop in that boat of dreams
And sail into the sun
Sail into the future
Build a mast out of happy
And a sail out of positivity
And oars to be fashioned from the finest
Apple tree
And float on with the hot gail
Maybe you'll find that distant shore
Where hope grows on trees
And the smallest fruit fills your dreams
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 2:09 AM UTC
Inflection
Infliction
Infection
Defective
Defenseless
Impressive
Depression
Impression
Departure
From
Reality
Surreality
Purity
Into
Frailty
Depravity
Definitely
Causing
Confusion
Diffusion
Profusion
In
Inflection
Infection
Imprison
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 2:10 AM UTC
On the stool
A pedistal for the fool hearted
Jilted and the shamed.
Made out to be the villian
In the drama you named
"Life"
On the stool, perched and poised
To lift one more glass with the boys
But they're not here
To gaze on him
On the stool
Head in one hand
Brew clenched hard
As the few drops left
Hit the sandy tongue
On the stool
Belly full of forgetfulness
He stands
To **** away his hopes
Of being with you
Getting accustomed to
"Alone"
On the stool
Consuming another glass or forgotten memories
Will he ever leave this place
Of shame and disgrace
And open the doors to face
The cold yet familiar embrace
Of failure and be left with the taste
Of stale beer and old tobacco?
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 1:37 AM UTC
The sands become my tomb
As I lay staring
At natures mirror
Memories invade my gaze
The mirror depicts a face
Staring back
Is this the face of the man I was?
Or the glare of the stonecut man
That I've become?
Etched from marble
Or maybe granite
By the horrors it's seen
This sandy grave consumes me
And my glare turns upward
Inflection of this mind begins
The mirk above does not churn
It does not waver
And I realize I'm alone
The Vast reflects back at the stonecut
Mirroring the emptiness
In his eyes and soul
The realization of internal emptiness
Is deafening in the silent night
Has revenge done this to me?
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 1:21 AM UTC