Dead of night
doubt wraps me tight—
like damp clothes on skin,
taking the air
leaving me shrunk
beneath the weight.

Fell into a tunnel
with no sign of light
I keep walking,
chasing my way out.
Every cut swears to
stir the results

It must’ve been the blackest of obsidian
The bleakest of tragedies
That fastened your bones together
And tainted what could’ve been yellow

And Misery must’ve held a millennium thirst
When she drank from the Styx
And spit you onto the world
To poison the ones who taste of it

Because even the flesh of the cold blooded
Will glaciate into an iron snow  
Will freeze over like rotted autumn roots
At the reticence of your touch

Yes, there must have been some devilish prophecy
Spoken on the day that you ascended from the embers
The day the stars were misaligned
Off kilter and yearning to return to virtue

I’m sure that it must’ve taken a mountain of karmic cycles
Each more sinister, more corroded than the last
To shape the quiet vessel
That carries your deafening poison

Unequivocally—
Certainly—
Truthfully—

Threaded into the fabric of you was a venomous wound
And it bleeds and it bleeds and it bleeds
And you thrash and curse and wail into the nothingness
And we both know that even the nothingness pities you now

But I swear, hopeless one—
I swear I swear I swear
If not for fate
And the wickedness of your heart
I think that I would pity you too

We come into this world swaddled
in clean, soft Diapers and parental
love, and some decades later, go out
of it wearing soiled Pampers and
mostly on our own, or all alone.

Friend of a friend
Enemy of an enemy
Revenge and violence
Standard deviation
The root of all stasis
If you strike like a snake
No one will give you reprieve
Strangling life
From your own neck

Everyone is dead, I think.
Be it morning or night, I don't sleep a wink.
In thoughts, I retire, I rebel, I transpire.
This spring holds none to miss,
This air, to me, holds no bliss.
I think of sanity now and then,
But overpowered, I run back to my den.
The sky embarks upon the fairest hue,
And I sit patiently for death to ensue.
How loyal I am to this greed —
To have my insanity freed.

I've been marooned here for the past 4000 years.
I've heard the wars and the endless building above.
The shadow canals of the stars are now broken.
I can only fly about at night here.

The sun is my destructor.
Light of decay and chaos.
They're no shadow canals here to protect me.
I must heed the night and listen for the bird's morning calls.

As the birds sing.
I must get to safety.
Bathe myself in shadow.
Away from the sun.

I have studied far and wide.
The knowledge here depicts me as an angel.
I will use this knowledge to feed.
And they will let me without consequence.

Bygone days
Of love and prosperity
Clarity remains
With the absence of charity
No one understands the severity
Irregularity to regularity
Popularity of the singularity
We all possess a similarity:
Absence of solidarity

Kafka,
Prague is poorly lit.
A guest at a cheap boarding house smokes on the balcony of his room – he contemplates the movement of the Vltava – the river’s dark reverie chills the soul.
A newspaper lies across his lap, the front page reads: How to Be a Good Cockroach.
The man goes back inside; that night, he dreamed.