nathan-squiers
American
Nathan Squiers (The Literary Dark Emperor and the author formally known as "Prince") is a resident of Upstate New York. Living with his loving fiancé/fellow author, Megan J. Parker, and three incredibly demanding and out-of-control demon-cats, Nathan lives day-by-day on a steady diet of potentially lethal doses of caffeine. When he isn’t immersed in his writing, he often escapes reality through horror and/or action movie marathons, comic books & graphic novels, Japanese anime & manga, and gnarly tunes. While out-and-about, The Literary Dark Emperor can be found in the chair of a piercing studio/tattoo parlor or simply loving life with friends & loved ones. / / See full bio at Nathan's official website at www.nathansquiersauthor.com
I know I'm not an orange, but I feel like one at times.
My heart feels encased until someone peels the rinds.
Now I'm open for the tasting, but something in me dies--
I'll be left as bits of scraps; left to feed the flies.
Yea, I know I'm not an orange, but I'm rhymeless all the same.
To most wanderers I won't fit anywhere; I just can't be framed,
Though, perhaps, some may see challenge for another day...
At least that's the way I think everyone feels, anyway.
Look, I know I'm not an orange, but I feel acidic just like one.
The farmer's hand can't leave me be; the chaos is never done.
So I'm stripped and sectioned off for all the world to own.
I know I'm not an orange; I'm just a citrus fruit with bones.
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 4:41 AM UTC
I hear the trickle of fickle murmurs as they tickle past my ear,
Their intent is ill, but to what extent should I indulge such a thrill?
Fickle tickle, still the clock's tick-tick-tick 'til time stands still,
Leave it all behind me, but never stop lest it catch me in the rear.
I'm here to remind you there's more than just time out there to ****
You strive to stay alive; others die--what's left for them to fear?
They're escaping all the hassle you're then left to commandeer,
So can you really celebrate when there's chaos for you still?
The fickle murmurs of their vocals squirm about my ears,
They tickle--sure--but nothing greater than a trickle 'cross the gills.
All their malice could fill a chalice (but no room for fuss or frills).
So while the dead are free I'll trickle on as a tickle in your ear.
Aug 29, 2015
Aug 29, 2015 at 1:39 AM UTC
I've always been one for the dimly-lit halls,
The mysterious passages and the potential falls.
I'm not about the risk, though; it's not about the danger.
It's the hope that in the depths I might come upon a stranger.
A stranger with an eye that's seen something I have not;
A stranger with a hand that holds something I haven't got;
A stranger with a rope that will show a new knot.
It's about finding a stranger who can teach me a lot.
I've always been one to seek the lesser known,
To look within the shadows where no light has shown.
I'm not about the darkness; I'm not hoping to get lost,
I'm just hoping for a stranger who will be worth the cost.
A stranger with a pair of lips that tell me unknown tales;
A stranger who's succeeded where many others failed;
A stranger who has navigated all the unknown trails.
It's about finding a stranger who puts the wind in my sails.
My tendencies have earned me a great deal of concern.
I'm told that, should I stray too far, it's unlikely I'll return.
They tell me that my obsession is a danger in disguise--
that seeking out the unknown can lead to one's demise--
But they can't see something new with their old-fashioned eyes,
So while they look down at their feet I'll keep my gaze upon the skies.
What they do not understand and what drives me to my doom,
Is that one should never find themselves the smartest in a room.
One cannot learn all there is; a life can be bettered or it will worsen.
So getting lost isn't so bad if you get lost with the right person.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 2:25 AM UTC
Dreadful.
Trying to be everyone's clown
While feeling an anchor of reality drag at my guts.
Face paint drips around saline rain,
But everyone sees the drawn-on smile
And joke that my mascara's running.
Lucky mascara, I think; wish I could, too.
Perhaps I'll cry out,
Wipe off the face,
Hope that everyone sees it this time...
But there's already a crying clown across the street.
One with a shinier soap box...
And nary the burden of effort to show for it.
Aug 23, 2015
Aug 23, 2015 at 2:54 AM UTC
Another day, like any other, left to wonder "Why?"
A mother, guilty as any other, left alone to pray and cry.
Smothered beneath the covers as I recite "I wanna die,"
Brother, it's just another tortured storm cloud in my sky.
Lie; I'm spewing nonsense like it's going out of style.
"Hi," I'll force a smile, "I haven't been down in a while."
By and by I'll buy the lies and just force myself to smile,
Try to fake the same old high as I'm just adding to the pile.
File my condition under "hostage;" forever bound...
Vile: forced to smile while the echoes still resound.
"I'll be fine," I tell myself, but it all comes back around.
While a tree can rise to new heights, it's still anchored to the ground.
Pound a blessed coffin nail into another wasted day.
Found another breath of life that still won't go away.
Confound the demons pushing me--holding them at bay--
Astound the very Fates, I have, so still in this life I stay.
Pray for the best, but I'll forever be transfixed.
Pay it all to the Piper, but he still plays his tricks.
Days, yester- and tomorrow, always feel affixed.
Lay still and listen for the call of Death; I'm betwixt.
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC
I
can
SEE
that no
other man
WILL ECHO IN
your eyes. i can see that i
STAND ATOP THIS PYRAMID.
but i can't see over the peak just yet.
AND I CAN'T STAND ON THE BOARDS
of your pier any longer. it's not a question of my place
in your horizon, but a question of how you perceive my climb.
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 9:25 PM UTC
We’ve totaled all our totems just to glower under towers;
Handed in our scrotums; douched away our feminine powers.
We’ve traded in our lifetimes in exchange for prescribed hours.
We once basked beneath the heavens; awed by meteor showers,
But now we’re fed our heavens via signals from the towers…
We’re the antennae squatting upon the set,
So the gods in the TV can tell us what to fret,
But do you ever stop to regret
What they’ve forced us to forget?
We paid for this, but what a debt…
We felt infected by a plague known as freedom,
But the antidote… my god, what have we done?
Totaled all our totems…
Traded in our lifetimes…
Ignore meteor showers,
Just to stare at radio towers.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 7:39 PM UTC
When I go out each day,
Despite what I might say,
There's an immense rage--
A mental cage--
That just won't go away.
I keep it all inside,
Where I wish that I could hide.
'Cause without that net,
There'd be much regret,
And so much more homicide.
There's poison in the masses' veins.
There's torment waiting to be aimed.
And I see it in their eyes.
And while I wish that I could maim--
To reciprocate their ****** blame--
I guess I'm just not that sort of guy.
The sort of guy who gives a ****
'Bout all those who they torment, it...
It's not something I'm proud to say,
But I'm gonna say it anyway:
I feel it when I go out each day.
I see them cry; I see them hurt,
And, sure, I go on high-alert--
I WISH that I could care for them--
But then I remember a time back when...
When I hurt the same and they...
They'd do what I do...
When I go out each day.
Now ask yourself:
Am I that way...?
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 3:48 AM UTC
She emerged from within the fire, which is something to admire,
Yes, she showed us darker days.
She turned good girls into liars, and when the moment had turned dire,
None could be found to to cease her wicked ways.
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 4:25 AM UTC
Just what do you believe you see when you think you see clearly?
Is it the same for those around you? Do you think they would agree?
Can you define reality? Can you give me a description?
Welcome to my world, now let me write you a prescription.
With teeth as white as doctors' pads, they'll drug you with their lies!
Their speech won't teach but rather breach the scene seen by your eyes!
So tell me now just what is real; please offer some conviction.
Or I can lend you some of mine; let me write you a prescription.
There's nothing real but what's really in your mind.
There's nothing true but all that you are able to define.
You say it's your reality, but I'm pretty sure it's mine;
An uncomfortable notion though it is to get behind.
Can you stick within my world for now, just coexist with me?
Though sad, I swear it won't be long before you return to slavery.
The pain you feel--what you claim is real--is a voluntary affliction,
So bear with my reality, and let me write you a prescription.
You can be free of the terror of your ordinary life,
Just by letting go of all the thoughts that bring you strife.
I've seen your world! A world where pain and fear is rife!
But in my world the pen can cut much deeper than a knife.
I cannot make you take this simple-yet-complex cure.
It's the kind of thing that works only if you're sure.
Though there exists in us a mind, in every ma'am and every sir,
There aren't many who will use them, of this I can infer.
So I leave the choice to medicate solely within your hands.
I'm not the type to give out orders; I make no harsh demands.
I simply hope to rid the world of this misery-driven addiction,
So please, my friend, do come in, and let me write you a prescription.
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 6:17 AM UTC