Troglodytism. get betwixt thy cave **** rats. amass!!! beyond the wooded canvas of life.
and lay beside thy corpse of agony
in the pits of all foul'd demon beknownst to thou's angst.

there lay the chalice of life.
Oh to lay in the darkness'
o' to bask in the decadence of no light.

Anti heat
forth go ye unto distraction.
To over sensual
to photopic cancer
all bio centric failure that reveals itself in the concord of vestige

only one

only one who's skin, brines to salt. Only one who's writhed on the depth of the cave
sub terrain.
Becoming convoluted
with ulcers. In the brain.
Stomach
esophagus.
Till veins squelch the blood from oxygen as gills. Sea water.
till muscle over sinews, Myomeres.
till acts of mycotic deprecations elude your own grey. Destruction.
And sap what is left
the bends corrode all health.
You eek out a full metabolism.
You finish all hopes with each loathsome meal intake.
death.

Oysters take over.
They create their home
shell of man.
Disabled to a merman, made, morose.
Barnacles infest recesses,
chasms that held mountains of bountiful moral.
Filled till bursting in the case fit for a brain,
but these ocean vermin walk the tightropes of this goblins neural bag.
Tearing each synapse.
Like the innards of a necrotic recluse.

I am the dying vagabond of the ocean.
Finally succumbing to its ethereal pitch covered floor,
where no reflections mourn for me
and ghost wail me no remorse,
as I metamorphose.
Into, detritus.

Teachers, moms, nurturing women always,
feel my pain.
As I stick my fingers into my mouth,
and try to chew off my insecurities.
Or my nervousness.
Or chewing off my boredom.
I'll chew off anything.
Can I bite your nails for you?

That's how I care for you.
I'll bite off your insecurity. Your pain. Your boredom.
Your lack of knowledge. Your prettiness.
I'd bite it all off for,
this is a love curse.
You had to walk in at this moment didn't you,
so I can give you what you need,
so I can bite off all that we can chew.

I want you to be happy. You will be happy.
Probably not with me. I want everything.
You're right about that.
I don't want you to have to bite your fingers.
I want to bite them all for you,
you’re not this way though.
I know you.

You have to do things, I have to do things.
I cant be your teacher.

Our paths cant cross,

and I cant mistake your hands for mine.

The winter Air hangs so crisp and i wish to hang in it
and wisp with the ether.
Drown in the calm. asphyxiate on the atmosphere
As submersed in photons that provide little heat to the overwhelming bleak

The grass is gone. All the water fell from the roots or left from its ceiling to the stratosphere
The vapor hangs around me. Suspended with me
But with lightness
Not weighted and tugged but stagnant as these sun rays. And the light wind breeze pushes me slightly too and fro
I'm like a twig in the wind with sails of leaves
But there's no spark in me. And the birds are the only ones who know. The contemplation has ended and i'm now just a temple of carbon and still blood.

The mocking birds mouth is as still as the tree.

I'm melting
Icicles crashing
snow fashioned animals
melting from beneath

melting
this ice carousel
******* breaking
cant you hear hear me

I shall hibernate in the eyes of winter. Torpor in the wake of fall.
Crucify the image i made of you
Mount corpus delecti Ensconce The carcass on my ceiling wall

I’m reminded now of that creature when i sleep or i wake
I need this stone of guilt wound around my vertebrae
So it hangs so it hangs so it sways with the weather vane
So it hangs so it hangs
So it slowly brings feelings again

We need this Contrition On the roof of our eyelids
To the struts of our mouth guilt through your body infest

Every nook and cranny

I crush all these blown glass animals. They all try and creep to my brain hiding in the amygdala
Take shards of them
Ingest them
Carve your likeness in my arms

No beat can hit me hard enough
No stone breaking bones could slough
How this carnival creature menagerie
Has destroyed all my self conscious stockpile
Esteem was a book that sold millions of copies and mine burnt up
The firemen. Came and disintegrate the pages in a pile a mass grave of individual triumph

Carousels destroy childhood

Holding hands destroys manhood
Just when you think you can finally stomach the ride
Those fingers course up your arm down your throat and pull out your insides

I like it when people stare at me
now
They make me happy
now
they gawk, Speculate
Probably even think about me when they leave.
Maybe at home
in their beds, next to their wives
Husbands
i may stand next to their children in their minds
in a sequence of constant banter about all things that happen
day to day
especially that day
I just sit and look up this
over contrasted
over saturated
array of photons
beaming my own image into a reflected
discombobulated
over exaggerated
caricature of what they
see
im not even there
i am perception
eating a burrito
with symbols and
fake hands throat and heart
merely concept in construct

a castle of light with no
windows to shine to humanity
although...
they wont know that.
i.construct.

This giant tyrant Moloch, of epic proportions, ******* the life of everybody.
Galaxies crumble before it's feet.
The voice of hopes ****** from lungs, by a machine.
Anti heart/lung decree, fathomed, exonerated by release.

Singing, pleading, saying.

Come now breakdown and you'll cry,
Come now breakdown and you'll cry,
Come now breakdown and you'll cry,
Come now break down, break down.

no, longer the sun, a blacked out cosmos devoid of heat,
filled with sorrows where feeling meet.

A destroyed colossus, of a world, dead to the core,
Destroyed, employed by death and set to gore,
The eyes of saviors, one by one.
Set to resolve the travesties,
On free exploits of dreams,
And of beauty.

So come all ye faithful, joyful, and destructed,
Consumed, detached, disrupted,
And made up to believe, that we all have rights to succeed.

Amputated laced with vines, holding all that's left inside,
Of your minds erased, infused with lies,
Pressures meant to defeat, to defeat.

To defeat the cultivating mind, encapsulated behind closed eyes ****** in by,
The winds of black holes, called leaders,
And social servants guided by light, disguised by heavy eyes.

I hate the tenements.
The ***** consumed in vast amounts,
Vague visions not in pretty eyes,
But tortured ****** up howling nights.

We wont be destroyed, roaches of the earth, a life inside fires pyre,
No in distress, in detest, and duress.

This place must be cursed, but we won't be detained.
We are the dust of the earth, resurrected to destroy.

This souls is excrement.
This souls consumed.

I watch each of them eat
i watch each of them drink
i watch them all sink
i watch them sleep away
while walking,

zombie,
with the same placid easy
expression
ornamenting their face, handing chandelier face paint

a sconce on a wall i am
or in a chair
as they ensconce themselves into another job
another school another group

talk, about, important ****!
like a book
a clothes piece
a hair dye
clouds
universe
opening wide

revealing a void of absence
this makes me not closed
no closure

i want all their minds
to be present, i want

a
few people, around me.

they're stumbling off a plank of, mind, intellectual existence into

an ocean of jobs cars new ethics and things they wont get.
i'm trying to jump out of a swimming pool of truth,

out of,
existence.

Everything is gnawing like what you gnawed on last night,
Salmonella, Desdemona, E. coli', which plight.
Wanting to exhale yet holding on to breath,
diaphragms help gag and heave but no relief is let.

rib cage throat and mouth expand.
but nothing works quit like fingered hands.
sightly stroking epiglottil muscle.
tightly choking back the particles
.
to live to release
to mutually be
just go back to sleep
no time for sick bees

cant enjoy the flowers
while you sit in the honey.

I hold the passion in my heart of a million brimstone suns.
The sadness in my gait of the death of ten thousand dearest loved ones.

I cant eat, I cant breathe, my voice warps when i speak.
My breaths are shallow like hospice lungs, wishing for cemetery gates.

The look in our eyes of an infinity of reflections, glinting in the sun, coupling the teeth in the gears of our irises.
These few hour dances are a romances suicide.
Each goodbye cleaves a piece of my heart, it convulses.

The cells in my stomach rot without your glare.
The muscles grow weak and atrophy without the want to continue living not breathing your air.

No temporal thing can be enough.
No trinket can replace your presence.
No matter how hard I hold it.
It's not your fingers. Its not your nails.

If our hands could touch,
life would end for everyone from a river of blood that would pour from my finger tips where i chew to let my love out.

If my heart was exhumed I wish you keep it with you.
If my body rest inside a tomb, i wish you lay this vessel in your womb.

The sands of the ground will wither to dust. Earth will be swallowed whole by the sun. My body shall be piecemealed to various molecules in the universe. But our time my love. Our information. Our imprint. Will be an everlasting curse.

Family’s just.
An empty word.
Evokes no meaning.

Just spelled letters.
Cursive cursed.
No meaning to me.

It makes me sad,
Other people have,
Something I cant stab at,
Real hugs when things go bad,

From some one you care about.

I lost my home.
When I was 5 years old.
Became complacent and detached.

From gene.
Sharing people.
Like.
My dad.

I was supposed to be.
like them.
Instead I'm the way.
I am.

Holding no golden fleece.
Just a mind with ideas.
Released to them.
No meaning.

Holiday days are the worst.
I cant hold their hands and for sure not my words.
The only time I feel anxieties with them.
They ask me how I am I ask them how they can't.

Feel, what, I, feel.

We aren't a family.
We are just guilt.
Guilt to love, people, you hate.

And go to their funerals, buy them presents,
And,
Bring flowers, to their graves.


But I don't want.

To love them now.

They forgot me growing up.

Now my homes burnt down.

I'm driving miles, counting smiles, in the aisles, of the road.
In the forms of cracks, dips, and traps, where millions have drove.

I'm crouching, pouncing, dipping, dodging, frothing, lunging, from this load.
The grief strikes nails, through pails, that hold my appetites trails.

As it falls like sand, through the tin, of the can receptacle of this man.
This stomachs a trick as the food softly slips through nicks in the net of the canvas of this bed

I cannot eat,
Sleep,
Feed,
Or drink.

I cannot want,
Gain,
Deflect,
The pain

My hungers a mountain i cannot climb,
Now its a grave i dig named "mine"
I own up to my own grief, its the chief of my beliefs.
Hold my throat to the sheers, cut close to veins my dear.
For i deserve where i lay, in the streets, or in the bay,
And my death will be on loan, i will own up to these bones.
I have created this devil in my eyes.
The mirror death mirage.

I shouldn't open up my cage
And let my voice out.

Do you wanna see my heart.
Look in my *******, eyes.
Do you want to hear it ripping, back and forth,
listen to my ******* blood throat.
My teeth constantly try to knife my myocardium to exhaustion.

Most people have to hold back their tongues with their dentition,
Or cloister their words with their cheeks,
Tucked inside near their palettes.

No.Not.Me.

I’m holding back the force of death,
The force of love.
And its all i can do to not **** every ******* soul.
All the hearts of men.
Coagulate inside this pit.
Empathy, destruction, lust, fervor for wanting.

A passion so burning, the sun dries up.
The molten hydrogen exhaust itself, and kicks and screams as it tries to nail its claws away from the cement as i come to ingest it.
It tries to escape me.

Do you want to see my love.
This cage cant hold it.

...

You will see my essence even with your ******* eyes gouged out.
I spill into the multiverse.
Slipping.Like.Space.

The golem quakes from the grounds tremble.
The mountain howls with the wolf.
Everything that was supposed to hold mystique,
has been corrupted by proof.
A god that cant eat.
A people that cant lift their own arms,
in arms that hold each other.
Now the thought mistraced faith reforms,
deformity causes alarm in the masses because difference hits too hard.
Control mind, control body, control philia, measure all your calculations always magnanimous dose. Part.
Relinquish. Relinquish!!
Give all sanctity and hope to the state,
they will focus your hate,
through a photoelectric device.
Let them mold you into natures and **** sapien sentient plight.
Allow your shape to be devoid of integrity.
Be all you can be.
Join anything that ends with an A. Starts with an US.
If you ever take off your mask and see the cave for what it is,
we will **** you.
Plato is the design for our torture system.
When some one says. "be born",
concede and reply with "nevermore".
End life in the womb.
You will live the rest of the days light, in darkness.

It is times when we are ripped away by facts,
That we hate this illusory dream,
Of tangled hair with kissing fingers,
Tantruming under lovers seams.

Oh to touch such dark hair,
To line my skull with such thoughts,
And decorate a house unkempt,
Destroy the cobwebs and chaos.

I am but a single placement in the sky,
A blip of light etched to the back drop of night,
Attracting, making a binary star,
Kissing into cold airs space finding his broken piece of heart.

I wandered in on a world of dead rock. I laid with it. Smelt the essence together with carbon and metallic lifelessness.
To create a place of pretty. A sadness overcame.
I came to feeling. To knowing. Sentient.

A rootless contusion never ending.
A bottomless chasm of void.
The pit follows deeper and deeper it travels,
To the hollows of sorrow contempt I’m born.

I grow to feet from the ground where I lay,
As my body draped the floor sprawling and loose.
Upon these legs I rise, and so rise my eyes.
The hollow void I have lingers yawing in my stomach. Ulcerating my mucosal cavern.

What I see
Before me
On this road
On this desert of the necropolis:

Metropolis mass grave,
A mausoleum for civilization,
Möbius of war.
The reflective glint in my eye was of no mans eyes at all.
The death of hope.

Sea of sky scraping spires.
The dead hollow bones left after a city extinguishes.
Millions of towers with red glowing eyes, where blue life used to flourish, now twinkle in and out of this plane.
These giants graze, on the concrete and sway...with the wind.
Colossus of marble, petrified forever in granite with the internal flora that haunted their bowels.
They now have no agenda...city percolates to extinction.
They will forever amble with no purpose.

Once they housed the hearts and minds of microbes that built them.
The builders of hero worship.
They died in the 20's.
Left are the shells of a dream and a forest of buildings.
New York died circa 1900.
United States crumbles: 1776

Legs rusting in cement
re-barb poles of anchoring
but no foundation suffice
for the feelings of neglect in childhood
the bricks arise
the mortars set
but in a misshapen pattern of mangled misanthropy
and charred remains of humanity

a family is for one thing,
comfort in an odd place.
holding to conformity,
telling you who you are, when you are not.

when it all goes awry, the suns still in your eyes,
eyelashes cant curl enough to make you pretty in asides,
poems monologues that you speak don’t take time to preach,
pain and hiding that you try to flee from during human touch or human speech.

I cannot handle myself much less others.

I cannot speak with anyone so I have to speak with you.
Or I have to hold back a heart mired in loving glue.
horses died to allow me to roam, trees die still to make my home.
I still cant fashion pictures true of a family of five with six that are real
alive alive
I jig and strive to dance away my hate for life
it waltz's its way upon my ears and kills my familiarity fear
I want life in its sake
I want death timely
we all want things that just feel right,
feel just fair.
I want Disney land to not hurt when I get to the entrance
because it all turns out right
suburbia is not a Moasist country frilled with soulless black eyes
no sparkles.
all the glitter is very much silver and also the gold of the joys of souls

the way I feel is that if these wrought iron fencing’s could help to divide me any more
I could be one with them. Solitary atom.
They could be my home. They could coincide with differential turnings in my brain and eventually destruct me into molecules that would inherently be of their own. Be singular

but in the current state of matters.
I must depend upon all matter to be the one thing that holds me together

what life is this?

this makes me brittle
makes me short
controls me into any contortion that is to them beautiful
for now
I must be beautiful.
**** that.
To contort and retort, when we only wish to wobble and pulse with Brownian motion. My own happiness should not derive from people; I wish to not be near nor around in any small sequence,
they are merely dead to me.
Non-animate.
this is the platonic family we create.
This is life that we see from dead, dank, and sorrowful eyes.
Pity.
Forced.
Relations.
Consummate. Indelibly.
You people should be ashamed of yourselves for forcing love. By any means.

The writings on white sheets,
of paper, meander into corners of peoples troubles,
hopefully they taunt correct hemorrhages that will impulse something.

I hope that when I write some person is confused.
Or else I've created no symbolism.

Ive created nothing of worth
or
of
more than it is.

This sallow fickle body I traipse in.
It's got bones filled with osteocytic stones to shape it.
They are calcium degraded, then traded for rigid text.
This body is hard and hollow.
Like bird bones.
Like the bonds between atoms.
This sick cadaver is nothing less.
Our cells become separate selfish entities,
incapable of helping themselves.
Indigent children with no child hostels.
With no help for the homeless youth of our own corporeal phantoms.

When the Aids takes us all,
The cancer takes its toll.
When the whooping cough kills our hopes.
When we die to our dreams of home.

We die all on our own.

The skin becomes parchment.

Some day these bones can be the frame to a poem of worth.
Hung in a rich mans house.
On his wall awkward awards adorned.
Creating what I never could by a poet who was as perfect as the others.

Now the calcium lies in me,
as I lie between sheets of this meat,
of human humus before it disintegrates,
to make plants much more beautiful;
but that calcium, that carbon will make a page.
That bone will make a frame,
and my frame will stand tall like the last building left in the earth.
As there are no more humans alive to see it.

The last iris of the universe will be. A sun.

I just curl into a ball.
And freeze under the rafters.
I can't grab the words I need,
To release them between,
My teeth,
And stop sinking,
Below the frosted air on the ground.

The crown of my heads busted and broken,
Into fragments of love I'm reduced to splinters of glass.
I cut my throat with them to see if I hurt.
Idont.

I need to be bounded with leather.
Heart skin crocheted into "Another" heart.
Atrial to carotid,
Her hand to mine.
Just give me the digits of your finger,
And I'll give you the life of my voice.
In volumes of poem.

I still will be that little boy shivering, convulsing, and scared in the floor.
With block wings in the stone.
You will still be a life saver given to me as a cyanide pill
in my teeth.
Sides of the cheek.
Press.
Display death in my face.
Then be released with pain.
Needing no savior.
Only an outlet for talk.

I quit writing.
To quit writing is the concept.
The concept is happy.
Happiness is the end cause of the deceased.

Blank page
soon to be filled
with
all heart
needles in each cell
burning in all
muscles
sleep in all eyes
testament to having
all given up already
cliché
action of morbid
sadism
this place, *******
that place, worse
“Nothing will change when you get there.”
People don't.
Places don't.
High buildings,
they are not sails.
To distant lands
where everyone is in love
and time is perfect.

Instead.

It's gutters, toxic.
It's sewers, pollution.
It's ******, it's *****,
It's an emetic given ******,
as one force fed ****.
It's lonely.
It's alone.
It's time.
It's empty.



________________


­
It's loveless, callous, wrong, degenerate.
Empty,
empty,
empty, again and again.

No these buildings only
house the soulless vessels
of dead.

They are death.
The lights.
They are the city dying.
The skyline.

A skeleton.

Bleeding out
the last
blood in
it's marrow.

The City is dead.

I wanna live in the ******* movies,
I wanna cry every time I get kissed,
The tears will taste such of salt on the breeze of the sea,
And nothing will lose it's saturation or contrast with time or wear.
As promised.

And one day I'll get married, and I will be her prince,
And small snow angels will grace a cake,
With identical caricatures of our likeness.
No lackluster no filler.
No omission or revision of courage,

My life's the movies and I never lose.
I'm a hopeless romantic and i get right every word use.
I always know what to say and nothings to chance.


My life's stuck in the reels,
I get a second chance and the splice is just so.
My children I push on carousels with doppelgangers of animals.
No one even questions.
They are mine.
They laugh,
It's in sepia as they spin around; and love it and they never die; and we live fresh air; and my heart never plummets.

Like a meteor,
Like blasted Orion,
Falling down from space.
My life hangs on the bandolier of that sky giants frame.

We are the dust of romanticism's books.
We sit on the pages and speculate every hook. Every line.
We fish hooked in lines of lies.

My life’s an 8 1/2 by 11 of all the pain I've ever felt.
My wife’s a scar that shreds my heart.
My children smiles are fake lines, I part.

The problem wasn’t the lie of love.

The problem was that I believed.

The problem follows not the roses petals.

The problems the thorns I eat.

My anguish, pain, hatred, and sadness will live forever.

My body will mourn and wail with the sunset of dusk on the grave of loves hoax,
For eternity.

My arms have been.
Cut off.
Feet.
Nailed to the floor.
I don't know what,
But I'm doing it wrong.

I feel so much.
At stake.
Like stakes through the heart.

I am grief incarnate.
No one's died.
I feel like all,
the flowers.

I'm sitting in a gravesite.
The ceremony was beautiful.

Was it.
0nly held.
And was I.
Only to be put in the ground.

I feel petrified in dirt.
Then dismembered,
De-powered, and swaddled in earth.

Can't move at all.
My brain's been eat out.
Imprisoned in this bed.
Being swallowed,
Whole trying to keep.

My insides down.

But it doesn't work

The king is dead.
We fed him knives and liquor.
Anything to seal his fate.
That much quicker.

The king is rotted in the media.
The fly cored out his body with maggot young.
Bled the liquor out with a funnel and dug in the carcass;
For blood rusted cutlery.

Calm and focused.
I lose my love for his liege.
As he ***** all the women, made our children believe,
He's the answer to questions,
In the ether still linger.
I burn up the vapor, with his name ghostly whispered.

The empires dead, we are red in the face of the answer,
The king wasn't there, now his bodies a phantom.
And I’m not shoulder deep in his blood from shoveling
But shackling myself in a corpse wrapped for posthumous reverie.

The sovereign lives!
He is you, not me.
A shackled neck for every broken king.

Self ownership ends, with the plows yolked to every sheepish smile, pan the lens.

The brain flows top down in the system of men.
This grey matter cage is forced through the gin.
Our corporeal visage is saliva in the face of the Prometheans before us.
We are the ******* if we don't roll fates stone,
And our eyes aren't picked out.
We should burn in that fire that so melted the wings of Icarus.


I'd rather my entrails eternally settle everyday in the belly of a crow, than be a stone with rested moss shaping the kings carved throne.

Encrusted with Slave Carcasses.

Lonely, Sad, Men.

I wanna be remembered for my lack of integrity,
my pessimism, and my doubt.
"The life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short."
Is the fine point in life.
Se la vie - de la mort.
Such is life-as in death.

Such is life of Death.
"Life's horrible at best."
Well **** that thought,
and die in your chest.
"You sir, are a *******."
I'll never be as famous or as bright,
or have shining achievements as adorning night lights.
Sconces.
Crowning my mantle or hiding dusty walls;

But you’re dead now and your body was all
The end of mans night has come, I see an endless morning.
Not as a prophetic insight; but as a lonely mans ending story.
The prosthesis of the heart.

This empty ***** bottle,
has been cuddled and swaddled and squandered.
In my ***** it seeps to every dame between,
a dad and not knowing her own preponderance.

I ****, I ****, by the ****** of my hilt,
of the sword of unrighteous, self help,
and filling their wombs with guilt.

I've never helped anyone all of my life.
Though they would tell you different mistruths,
of their positional view, so skewed by proof,
undo, that I sent them through.

It's  a fun house of lies and mirrors shaping figures,
of veneers, so botched that plastic surgeon quacks wouldn't own up to
the scars.

I ferment peoples living.
I turn drunk ****** into angels.
I mask charlatan as queens,
and poison my own gut with the fakes in my head.

Crops die.
Crust subdues verdance.
Chronos rhymes the days and night.
Course subjugation to penance.

But now I seethe my own head into my throat,
and end in ink wrote as prose.
Killing beauty. Art.
**** Art.

Today is.
Death.
Tomorrow's not life,
nor living,
breathing nor breath,
oxygen's just a molecule,
it causes no spark,
except in molecules charged,
with dividing and subdividing,
and rejoining and conjoining into something that can use it.

happy flights :)

I left my heart in a dumpster.
My life in a gutter.
I shutter when i whisper,
We once loved one another.
As cold naked in the alley,
Under street post lamps.

Dark and damp, dark and damp.
I lay heaving cramps.

Everything is ugly its all grey,
As dust storm in the dead sea,
Every blink,
sand will fling,
to my eyes in my dreams.

The dust cant cover up your trashed out corpse.
Holes in your neck and feet,
I listen to your voice.
Save me. Save.

Longing and craving.
Save me. Save.
Death for today.

This desert of the city behind the pizza parlor.

I haven’t left this spot since it happened.
In between this depository for waste and my own waste of space.
Phantoms **** themselves, picked on by rats and freegans, and murderous ruffians of soul.
Everything here in this xeric hole.

Kills. Just kills.

No. Save me. Save.

I couldn’t my darling now your lost to this ****.
And with you alone my body shall die.
I shall lay with it here under this deadlampost moonlight.

We lay exhumed, tissues being destroyed by fungi,
destroyed and hungry, dead and corpsing,
mute, yet singing.
exalted, grieving.
love couldnt save us, yet the powers that be,
neglected our bodies,
lead our essence to become one with the streets.

All I can do is stare at void.
And goad it into movement.
Asking it to soothe me.

Darkness, Blackness.
As I breathe in.
As I breathe out.

Only way I sleep, is to tuck myself calm in the dark matter.
Not that. Absence of anything,
Nothing,
But the concept of “all” stuffed into one corked universe.
To be shaken.
To bubble me into a dream.

Hiding behind rocks once I get there.
Hiding behind nothing inside of my own eyelids;
This has been happening since I was five.
Shivering, quivering, shaking, in a pit of *****,
eyelid color.
False chromatics.

I think it won't get any better.
I've always felt powerless.
Night makes me scared.

I stay awake.

I fake joy.
I pretend intelligence.
I'm a scared ventriloquist doll hoping no one puts their hand up my ***.
Not to Act.

Tossing and turning the ragdoll of my body,
My soul contorts to the visage of women.
Nuns with blood for eyes,
Entire memories dying.

If stars were real, they'd light my visions.
The back canvas of skin that projects my minds lens,
Lends to my own coward binge,
In my mind I'm a crippled victim of sleep and taunting of every hurtful human haunting that there is.

They all laugh at me.

Back drop and back bone of this canvas has cracked. The Painting Failed.
Spine of every book written about my memories, has been crumbled. Never Published.
In a corner, in every room there's one of me. Ghost Blocked Limbs.
A Hagfish who writhes in the dead body of his own spirit. *******.

The Lowest of Existence.

The one time you cant trust.
The hardest part.
Is when your puking, in the floor,
clutching a heart tied in knots.

I am the floor.
And the ***** I spit up,
Is your hair.
It's wired it's way,
Into every stomach and vein.
And I am merely a shape,
Clinging in these malignant strands.

A ghost shape cut from starlight.
On the ash tray wood floor planks. Yawing and lurching,
With lost control,
Strapped with constraint.

The ghost gave up it's insides .
Gave up it's happiness,
Gave up all it's heart mind,
Locked it in a box,
Under the floorboards,
And nailed the shutter door panel ******* shut.

His eyes bled out into the Amoire.
The coat closet has his heart.

They took my car, took my life, took my family, my designs
I lay here in this cell cold wells of **** and grey
slain in the lines of jail walls for changing hearts for minds.
The disgust they feel for the thinking
living breathing brain.
It is not enough for them to stifle and trifle fill with pain
filled to the brim with destruction and cephalic carnage.
But to truly constrict, choke the spirit.
The ether we breathe out on this frigid floor is the final gasp of a deathbed king.

I wait and wait for the hours that are days
the infinite of vindication for crimes i couldn't have committed.
This nation entrenches with a smell stench that wrenches
the guts of each pure male in each section of conviction


I smell baby wipe


I hold truths that could break these walls.
I clasp understanding that enfolds all beauty
I exude magnanimity that engulfs eyes.
And my passion is the water to put out their evil witch hunt pyres

You are poetry to me.
A muse.
Devil.
Angel.
Saviour.

You’re also my stomachs insides.
A regurgetant,
Sitting in the bowels of a rusted oil tank.
I take on more.
I threw it up.
On, to dead wood.

Dried.

You look like graphite now,
Your pale skin turned to,
A grey wisp,
Of illegible stress and fumble.

You’re poetry now,
As I’m done.

As I try to spit all of you up from inside me.
It won't work.

Poetry,
Is, like,
Cancer.

You're growing the size of
a melon in my
innards
turning my blood into
coal, or ink, or marker
or dye,

You are poetry
And cancer, and *****.
And.
I cant separate from you.

We are derelict isomers of forgotten human death.
Stones rolling down Prometheus backs.

Gathering all that kills,

Ghosts' of mans greatness stuck in the gills of the fish of time.
In the ocean of disfigured human atrophy,
Of the fire of soul.

A treason to all.
We will never accumulate the meaning.

We will just continue seething,
The will of our existence.
We will give it to anyone who ask,
But ourselves.

Man is the hero.

i can only believe in a person so much
before they have to walk on their own ******* feet
i can only have so much passion for another
before they have to make their own ******* lungs breathe
and their own ******* heart beat

I cannot be your blood.
My face mask rust
the red of the situation
is dramatic enough

I Hold all the water
deep inside
to gather hydrostatic pressure
to fill up these pipes

to fill your eyes with blood
to calm a raging sea
I wanna hold your love
but this glass case hull lacks the integrity

so motionless I feint
to drink the rays of light
that shine from porcelain face
and calm a dogged night

the moon cries for this iron maiden
the paper lungs puncture
the rush of air seethes pressure
as the lignen lines do rupture

the cellulase has been released
the paper tongue has been caught by teeth
the tracing paper wont map our stars
the universe does not belong to us

I crushed the velvet the stars and the sky
the poise I thought I had fell by the wayside
now I shake in pain in fear in mania
my hands are in my own throat strangling my blood supply to my cranium

this paper lung and iron mask eat each other then collapse
one with out the other isn’t worth its ****
so eat and eat until there's nothing left.

In this cave I'm at home, I am dead to the bone,
my marrows unbloody and my skulls just a tome.

I sink i sink i sink and i sink.
In this muck I dissolve my speech.
Needing no one to breach,
my lair where I grieve. I don't want to leave.
In refuse, I breed.
I broke my own tarsals and I bust out my teeth,
so words cant seep, from a mouth with broken feet.
Tiptoeing to tympanums.

Entrails prolapse from orifices. Pressure delegates my new motions.
I now must hold my own esophagus in my palms.
I now must clutch my stomach from my navel.
I now have to hold all of me in, because no one else will/
can.
No longer under control of anything,
pressure grinds my teeth to nothing.
My organs are liquid metal molten bleeding Ebola,
every pore agony of the lurching of cells,
all at once committing secession ,
against the parts they connect too.

This is proof there is no god.
This is the cave of a sink of hate.
This is soul atrophy.
A trophy of losing your hope when rock bottom was the chasms final means of escape.

Lucifer leaps from my mouth to the sky.
To reign anew.
To destroy the sun,
and show a new light from the rest of the punches in the blanket of the universe,
that,
that blasted sky lamp has always threatened us away from.

we can see peace now.
We can finally be rid of that overbearing street post,
and see that it aimed to destroy us.

We sleep in the cave now.
You and I.
Agony together.