Supported by a hook and a painful glare,
My tendons ache, digits degraded, depleted,
Yet tension pulls at me from thin air,
As my muscles and chassis sputter, defeated.
Confined to the line, confined to the chair,
Defying that which envelopes my bones,
Disconnect the mind, the eye that stares,
My domain is one of peaceful undertones.
Despite that awful horn, which blares,
I form the courage from nothing, yet defy
My own teeth, clacking in calcified pairs.
Not of fear, but of spirit I cannot rely
Upon in times of need, despite my disrepair.
The head grows weary, no longer mine to use.
Such feelings do elicit quite a scare,
Reduced, my self-agency, to not but a muse.
And, time passing, I find my mind quite bare.
A comforting truth, to say the very least.
Much preferable to the dangerous dares,
That tempt the dreaded claws of the beast.

Ah, and now for the inevitable,
the matrimony of The Heavens and Earth.
Perhaps, in your world, opposites attract.
In mine? They collide, leaving nothing but dirt.

But dirt can be fertile, O Mother of Saplings.
When water meets fire, they both dissipate.
The heat of the fire makes steam of the water,
their furious passion, such romance creates.

And hence comes the rhythm, miraculous rhyme.
Voices pierce heaven, as if shattering time.
Inhale the aroma of lust-addled bodies.
Give into sensation, thy spirit, sublime.

Eternity passes, the afterglow burns.
Adjourned, our meeting, though realized supreme,
united emotions, my lovely addiction.
Methylenedioxymethamphetamine.

Give me something that hurts.
Write me a poem that burns a hole
through the very page it rests upon.
Tell me a story that makes my soul

fear the unholy retribution
it hasn't even begun to earn.
Establish a word that, when spoken,
defies the very forces permitting the world to turn.

Stab me with something sharp.
**** me with something vile.
**** me with something evil.
Ruin me so that I may live.

Take me into a world where death is
welcomed. Not out of acceptance, but
of fear. Fear of the rope, the culling.
Lock me I'm a box and neglect me.

Can I **** you if you're dead walking?
Stupid question, who could entertain
the notion of ending your motion?
as if stopping the tide to spite the ******* moon.

****** me. Satisfy your sadistic
belief that despite all logic,
I am the sole origin of all suffering.
Set me free.

Let's not make any bones about it,
For I have no bones to pick.
Ah, and I've got you there,
for I am a sack of meat.

O, to live amongst the squids!
and be so jubilant and jiggly,
why, no pleasure's ever met my eye,
as that leathery wriggling beak.

Am I to blame for my misfortune?
Surely so, but of you I must ask,
what misfortune? Am I to assume
that because I have agency, I must fail?

Nonsense! And how fitting.
American manifest. Living
in a land, for himself, most befitting.
Laugh with me, for we live in Clown World.

This is the power of
the untamed duffle bag.
Vicious! O how vicious, his maw,
his all consuming zipper unzipped.

But my zipper, too, is unzipped.
Such a faux pas passes not
in our society, unforgiving,
unforgivable.
Original sin.

I stare at the eyes
of the man with no face,
his fingers like tendrils
that weave mortal fates.

A long slender tongue,
which doesn't exist,
slides into my mouth
and I cannot resist.

A pitiful yelp,
and a desperate gasp,
serve only to feed
our vile attack.

Into my throat
we continue to ******,
penetrating the mind
while defiling trust.

But I'm no longer me.
With a flick of my wrist,
I dispose of my corpse;
I no longer exist.

I am not a razor blade.
I am the sap in the twigs of the Yggdrasil,
the essence of creation.
I am a sensation,
felt by those troubled hearts that long for the *****.
I am a windowsill.
I am the iron will
of those who form our silent nation.
I am the soft parade.
But I am not a razor blade.

I am not the blood that taints the ground
where family members fell.
I am not the coal that fuels the fire.
I am not a sense of ire,
corrupting the minds of all around.
I am not the gates of hell.
I am not a victory bell,
whose ring announces raw desire.
I am not a snarling hound,
and I am not a razor blade.

You can never empty a cup.
Try, and you'll fill it with air.
The same can be said about bottles,
They always have something to spare.

But you can empty a human.
At first they'll be filled with despair.
Leave them like that for awhile, though,
And you'll find that their soul is left bare.

There is a dull path oft walked by the pilgrims,
A dark path, of pain, and loss, and regret,
That leads to a little mistake in creation,
Within which all sin can be found.

Inside, there's a hallway, unkempt and unwanted,
With holes in the walls for miles on end.
Each hole is the home of its own awful creature,
Hungry hands demanding a meal.

They start with your clothes, your cash, your possessions,
Move on to your hair, your teeth, and your skin,
Then they gnash on your muscles, your bones and your tendons,
and most won't have anything left.

But for those with their souls and an eye for the eldritch,
The hallway allows them to pass with their lives,
And much to the dismay of those who traverse it,
It takes them right back to their homes.

Sailing adrift in a sea of sensation,
I rock back and forth to the rhythm of waves.
Beating, beating the breast of my vessel,
The melody ushers in happier days.

Swooning to sounds of a summertime siren,
I sell her my soul, let her sounds ****** me.
Trusting, trusting this treacherous *****,
Yet there's not a place I'd much rather be.

Joyfully feeling the peaceful vibrations,
We dance in the darkness, so blissfully blind.
Ecstasy, ecstasy, name of my mistress,
Dearest to me, and evermore mine.

I am the King of Maggots.
Discarded remains are my domain.
I open my mouth to lead my Children,
and Flies erupt from my lungs.
There is nothing for me in this world.
Nothing but contempt.
Let it come, let it dribble down
the chin of disdain as it swallows.
My Spawn hatch beneath my skin,
squirming, thriving on my lifeblood.
At last, it is time to leave the nest,
and Maggots burrow out through my pores.

Outside, I am empty.
Inside, I am fulfilled.