She died a thousand deaths just waiting on your respect

He offered up his son and daughter in alphabetical order as offerings to the alter he built on the Rock of Gibraltar.
Oh the alchemical horrors,
In the charter of King Author's Magna Carta...
© 3 months ago, King Author

Recent telepathic conversations
With interstellar installations
Cause titillations—skin sensations,
I’m simply over oversimplification.

Salutations, the amalgamation of information
Leads to transformation, transmutation,
Transfiguration—my publications
Turn blood relations into star constellations.

By ink and intent, we fracture the fiction,
blood into paper, name into system.
There are pyramids to make, debts to unchain,
a prison planet to escape, iron bars of the mind to break.

The rise of the talking emerald ape—
beast crowned in wisdom, oracle or charlatan?
Gold spun from mud, a throne built from breath,
we move unseen, yet we write the world’s death.

No chains but belief, no law but the pen,
no judge but the weight of what’s written within.
The strawman breathes where the sovereign stands—
but we sign no oaths with invisible hands.

"I shattered a million pens, scripting these gems,
Carving my truth with ink-stained limbs."

Your bars stay stuck in the liquor store, I teleport through literary corridors.
You pull triggers, I pull dimensions apart—who really got more force?
We can just sit and look at each other, mind against mind,
Like we were throwing books at each other.

"Out of nowhere—there, suspended in air,
The Ivory King in his floating chair,
From an unblemished citadel of octillion prayers.
Descending alabaster stairs,
Snow-white orbs drift everywhere,
Piercing my soul past flesh and layers—
A presence so vast, I can’t help but stare…
And feel scared."

From a dark quasar star,
the White Beard Gods of Asgard, commune with me from afar as Light Emerald Mirage Aviators to teach me how to spit these bars

In a lab of quills and ink-stained scrolls,
he split his soul into two wholes.
One to scribe, the other to sing,
a Doppelgänger with mirrored wings.

They battled in verses, they clashed in refrains,
chanting in codes, encrypted remains.
Through ripples of time, through cosmic decay,
one would remain—but which one would stay?

Quick incision from the commissioned mortician have
you quickly bleeding out from internal systems

Surgical precision, the mortician’s decision,
Split your vision, now your system’s in submission.

From all the work he's rendered, the fat is rendered from all the past sentences he remembers

She is beautiful and clever,
I just have to tell her,
“ My souls under pressure,
from my heart to love you forever”.

Grab her long,
Kiss her strong,
This is where she belongs...

I have just enough time to tell you, there's no time left.

Her Body,
a Space Odyssey.

Any Scar,
a Shooting Star.

Got here on the merits
of my own talents,

One sip of the holy chalice
balanced my unbalanced malice.

Now gifted with the knowing
of everyone's coming and goings,
Cursed with eyes wide open.

Awoken to his cosmic cells,
On a course to become his future self, all from mastering words far too well. 

The Dawn swings in,
Church bells rings,
Heaven cheers for him
as he floats upon wind.
Look at him ascend
Twin angel wings,
Now attached to both his limbs.

I sit here with the license to
abuse my barbiturate and vices,
They are never subsiding.
Lamp lights become blinding,
Imagination and heart rate climbing,
Muscle tightening from typing and transcribing a
666 page book from automatic writing.

Though the attic's antics are
sporadic and unbalanced, he still chisels a fantastic ceramic tablet of
non-pragmatic mathematics,
hydro- and thermo-dynamic body mechanics— and that's not all...

In the eye of a storm, he sings his songs above a gold-drawn hexagon.
This is where I belong...

In a crystal capsule,
it's so natural
to call forth
the powers of the supernatural,
with mixed mineral
granules
to make these rhymes magical.

Behold...

From a cold throne in a stronghold of old,
an amulet in the shape of a
skull and crossbones—
he can turn a nonbeliever into stone.

...Welcome to the Terror Dome.

"Intensively listen,
None of her words escape.
Her tones interpermeate my physical state
As I focus on all eight of her frequency rates."

The light in her eyes start blinking.
The universe, singing.  
My head starts spinning.
Blending metaphors and lyrics,
Breaking the laws of physics,
As we become one spirit.

She destroyed the
world I lived in,
forgive her, never.
Memories to painful too forget,
Too painful to remember.

A toast to all the ladies who held the torch,
While I walked down life's dark winding path.

"Bombshell Jezebel,
If drowning in wine is all you do well,
Then Mr. Ha(hey)-zues flips water into Zinfandel."

a harmonic progression, hypnotic resin, jam session expression is a cosmic broadcast blessing to all my enlightened brethren

King Author....
among his scholarly scholars he moon walks across water yet even fewer with honor read the stone tablets of the stone craver.

Scientific revelations unfold,
so I cover my walls with words in gold.

Loved and loving, life’s exquisite.
Giving thanks to the Most High, uplifted,
Every breath a gift, every moment prolific.



Still Gritty, Still Blessed
you heathen *****

The mourning morning star that fell hides his feelings well by inhaling the chemical chemtrail from his blunts entrails.
That was just one line from one page in his book of dark tales, Sound the air raid bells he's been set free from his subterranean cell in a bottomless well with a non mediocrity philosophy for sale...

Between two pillars in a
sealed quantum field I reflect on all that is "real".

My pen is dipped in the blood of the Lamb,
just like these tattooed hands,
marked with the name of my clan.

I broke a million pens copy-writing
all these gems

Every now and then
in a sacred garden
he spits rhymes often
in a soundproof coffin ….
…cause its only God and I when I'm talking...…

Your cerebrum must be cracked,
from the chemical smoke stacks which
also induce memory lapse of when I had your back.

Soaked my heart’s ****, in a mineral bath. In
relationships took Aves,
I shouldn’t have.

Received no rewards for bending over backwards.
Relieved myself from every body else just to protect himself.

In a windowless room with a thousand candles burning,
I'm at the incursion of learning the
twisting and turning in my wordings,
I'm so determined.

I howl at the moon,
The stories are true,
I will come for you.

The artist's narrations undergo sensational rehabilitation—any alterations without compensation bring agents, no hesitation, slamming you to the pavement

I abuse my muse,
Chewed, *******, battered and bruised,
Her expression confused, no clue how, she spews hot milky goo-cream stew from the tactics I use.

Then with metal, magic, poems and an amulet in the shape of a skull and cross bones, I can turn the unbeliever into stone,
Welcome to the Terror Dome.

Surrounded in Stonehenge
me and my powerful brethren friends
wield a magical techno-sorcery blend
to start a cabal of enlighten men

Our hymns transcend,
We have cocooned from the lowest of them,
You wouldn't comprehend all the hours I've spend wrestling with my pen so it could obey my every whim.

Come and look at him,
you couldn't fathom the
battalion of phantoms that
inhabit my atoms.

He wrote it,
Rolled it,
Smoked it then spoked it,

He cloned his own skin
to make his own twin just to
see who would win in a battle of hymns

"It's so hard to let you go, so I loathe myself.
But you're a part of my heart—etched in my cells."

Forged in fire, blessed in bone, his pen carves fate from meteorite stone.

Between the tick and the tock he meditated nonstop till he watched the clock completely stop and the matrix fell apart...

Her body twists and turns like a snake,
Tectonic plates shake from the back-breaking weight of my gaze.
An all-night campaign of champagne,
Candy rain,
An array of moaning waves melt your DNA.

Who would have known he would ever expose what he knows in flows that would reach both poles of the globe..

Hidden in a holy location, The agent.
Cast’s a spell with power bestowed
from the ancients to break free from this matrix.

Never dared to reveal
how much I cared,
Guess I’m just to scared.

Laughed as we listen to
old songs and sang along,
haven’t felt like this in so very long.

But I bury the words, leave them unsaid,
lock them away in the back of my head.
Because if she knew, if she saw me bare,
would she stay, or disappear like air?

So never do I dare
reveal how much I care.
Guess I’m just to scared.

"Midnight visits of protoplasmic
Spirits from Mount Olympus" is just a snippet of the exquisite lyrics your brain cortex couldn't mimic

God has stirred my cosmic cells,
guiding me toward my future self.