I'll be the ***** it's expected.
No shocks or surprises.
She'll see it coming.
You can fade to nothing when harsh words cross paths.
I'm riled.
She knows it.
It's a little bit of all life new and past, but she'll get it.
It's not her fault but we'll say she had it coming.
Justify actions otherwise inexplicable.
Premeditated.
Premeditation.
Now anticipation.
Then justification.
Later.
Later nothing.
She had it coming.
She only had herself to blame.
She sees it coming.
If she doesn't, she should.
Now to wait.
Axes to tip.
Always in my favour.
I'm the *****
To the *****
I'll come out better.
Now delusional.
Not right, justified.
Not shocking.
Nothing.
It's nothing.
Delusions.
Pills.
Premeditation.
Silence.
I saw it coming.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 6:40 PM UTC
The art of being loved
is a curious thing.
Something starts,
So full of fear and doubt,
trepidation.
Knowing looks and unknown thoughts.
Flickers and smiles.
Moments.
Where we are just wild,
close, closed;
off to the world.
'Till we need no others.
Feed on passion,
crave control.
It is a curious thing
where living without is
living in sin.
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 9:08 AM UTC
The only legacy of maturity is insensitivity
I will die old will think nothing of it.
The young tend sodium springs
All the while watched by the barren.
Muted observers to life labours conceiving gasp
Unwilling to interpret.
Bald cries to heaven go souls dug with grapples stuck.
Silence takes precedence in the right seat
Unlawful is the wrong
Red is the left
Old knows all is dark.
We run water to rid false colour
Run it until we are dry
Run it until we are black.
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 9:00 AM UTC
Clear, serene, crystal pool of collected calm
naked to the eye, deceiver of the deceived.
I see myself in you.
And so much i hate.
For you spectators are sport;
To be picked and plowed, ticked and crossed.
Making old wrongs new.
Fooling all.
You lie to my face, I see how you
bend and twist your shape.
Contorting my view. Calling me untrue.
Nothing is upfront.
My hands are tied behind, a foot above
hovers the dagger.
It hangs, yellow, brittle, jagged canine.
Reminds me of your smile.
Villains smile. One day I will rap a knuckle,
crack your rattling skull.
I will open that box and set evil upon the world.
All I have ever known.
Seven years bad luck;
better than a life time.
Mar 17, 2012
Mar 17, 2012 at 9:39 AM UTC
I long to feel the warmth
of suffocation.
Heat on heat.
Callous on callus.
To have that comfort, to
be anchored; not to burden
or bear.
Intertwined. As much
one being as two.
Never to exist without
you.
Mar 16, 2012
Mar 16, 2012 at 7:47 PM UTC
Am I so bad
that all I see in this compliment
is sarcasm
and all in you is bitter.
Bitter is only a way,
never a taste
so why say bitter.
That taste is sour
and sourness is when things go off.
When you're off with me
I know it's because of the bitterness.
Our bitter is strong.
Toxic.
The result of fermented anger.
Locked in some small space
cooling in a steel casket.
Fermenting.
To be consumed in moderation.
I dream of drowning in our
corrosive distillment,
setting a flood upon you.
But no.
It's still ours and so
I couldn't bear to waste your half.
I'll drink deep mine own.
Keep it inside.
Not near you.
Let this fortified feeling burn through me.
Scorch my mind.
And I will live.
Unrecognizable.
But always the same.
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 5:06 PM UTC
Feel the air, vibrating,
Recoil from the heavy tang of metal flooding in,
A shift in levels, could rightly be the earth shaking.
Were it not for that thick darkness, vocalization would be a sin.
Curling toes grasp at nothing but space,
No solid mass. Gravity pulls but from within.
Humanity has lost the race.
It is sabotage, unsaid.
And demons come, with dripping fangs and pointed ears.
There is no more precious, no more sacred,
We are no more but fears,
And it is from fears they feed.
A pinch for a flinch, hear now from the chamber the clocking back of gears.
With each passing moment a growing greed.
These are the Demon Years.
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 4:50 PM UTC
"Death interrupts life;
it calls on everyone of us",
Unexpected yet long awaited.
Don't they say?It's not the destination
but the journey on which you go.
That would make us all,
but travelers
wandering a lonesome road.
Is it lonesome?
And what is lonely?
Have I never felt these thing
if I have friends,
people.
And yet I am, ultimately.
For, when you go, you go on your own.
Or arrive
-whichever it may be...
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 2:01 PM UTC
My space, my corner;
herein I find false comfort
and hollow hold
like the icy embrace of an apparition.
No cold kiss
from lovers lost
to Hades Gate
awakens my woeful resistance.
It is the shining darkness
that dragged me to my nest.
I am the burden of leaden wings
the sun does try to melt.
Nov 13, 2011
Nov 13, 2011 at 5:17 PM UTC
Too young
and yet I dream,
and fools do follow ....
Nov 13, 2011
Nov 13, 2011 at 4:51 PM UTC