I clutch my heart in my hands,
I trudge towards the white mountain,
I bleed from my seams as I move,
I see nothing but a blur before me.

I reached the foot of the colorless mountain,
As pure as consciousness unmarred,
I look towards my weary and crimson feet,
To see that only I was tainting this ground.

I laid myself to rest. The snow returned the mountain to purity.

Sullen and crestfallen the autumn leaves silently fell,
Mourning the loss of the pure heart set adrift within,
The bitter northern winds serving as a reticent death knell,
Grieving over the loss of the pure lass astray in deerskin.

Drawn to the forests of Myrkviðr for reasons unknown,
She wandered within the woods until all spirits were silent,
Ancient limbs reaching out to caress her delicate cheekbones,
Likening her to newborn blossoms both ****** and vibrant.

Decades have flown by like wind since that day,
Memories as faded and tattered as her deerskin,
A beautiful soul lost to time through innocent naivete,
Life continuing as it always had in the woods within.

Splitting withered leaves in psychedelic wonders,
Walking through the scenic forest of denial,
Weapons of mass destruction crash like thunder,
Manufactured warfare never out of style!

Backbones half grown marching towards death,
Many majorities persecuted by minuscule minorities,
Deciding grey pawns are expendable as a spare breath,
Come quietly now or we'll have to alert the authorities!

Come die for your government one and all,
Trust it's best for you to die in a foreign country,
Drown that PTSD in a little bit of alcohol,
Until you're prematurely buried under a tree!

Finality found in roads left barren and desolate,
Arid and topaz fields filled with suffocation await,
Innocent hopes and pure dreams now reprobate,
Humanity swiftly and succinctly drowned in hate!

-Trampled Under Hoof-

Thick dust kicks up from this sulfur tar,
Suffocating the fools dim enough come near,
Ultra violence breeds screams from afar,
Thunder Puncher gored on a topaz field.

Trampled under hoof,
No escape from this fate,
Wishing he was saved,
Filling up with hate.

Even mutilated by nature his fists rose high,
Thunder Puncher still has the will to fight,
Standing as the warm blood still escapes his thighs,
Bloodied and muddied, fists flying with all his might.

-Trilobite-

Ripping and tearing,
Scorching and staring,
Never with bearings,
Always out scaring.

Who is he to fear,
Violently attacking all,
Sharp as a spear,
Hand held in a ball.

Now they've all fallen,
Trilobite the victor,
Blood falling like pollen,
Death the constrictor.

I wandered through this topaz valley,
Steep walls surrounding me flat and high,
Totally alone as I walked down this alley,
Below these hooded skeletons standing silently by.

Each skeleton stood two hundred yards in the air,
Dark ravens silently flying from their empty eyes,
Gazing too long at them was something I did not dare,
I kept my eyes downtrodden, far from the suffocating amber skies.

Tears filled my eyes as I slowly fell to my knees,
This world of pestilence and shadows filling my mind,
I swiftly shut my moist eyes as my heart began to freeze,
Only to open them in an inhuman location, cold and confined.

I stood atop a stone pillar, thousands of yards above ground,
Hundereds of circular obelisks as far as the eye could see,
I noticed modest fires lit in their centers as I glanced around,
And one in the center of my pillar, left there for me.

Dark souls circled around the sweltering flames,
Hunched over figures, both seen and unseen,
Holding hands so tightly I thought they were chained,
I crept towards them, hoping not to intervene.

They turned to me with peculiar smiles on their faces,
Without a word, they silently began to beguile,
Taciturnly demonstrating the evils of this world,
Until I finally concluded, yes, let me stay by these flames a while.

Through this scarred and sodden grove I sauntered,
Rhythmic footfalls silently treading through the destruction,
Never before had I seen a wood so tortured and haunted,
The saturated leaves still gracefully drifting in seduction.

Ich falle.

The moon emerged at last, clouds' curtain drawn,
A howl sounded out in the darkness, chilling and pure,
The shrill wail kept the woodland creatures withdrawn,
This cold loneliness again my own to savor.

Ich falle.

In a moment of passion, I traveled to the highest hill,
Emerging high above the poplars and oaks,
Releasing every spirit within me, I remained at a standstill,
Hands raised to the moon, I howled as I cast off my yoke.

Ich falle.

I sit alone in this garden of many colors,
Flowers bloom beautifully in this warm spring,
Seen through these eyes of mine, it grows duller and duller,
I cast my eyes down, feeling a shamed sting.

This breathtaking scene frustrated with me,
I crept to the center of these dense woodlands,
Moving beneath an ancient blue oak tree,
Grey still all around me, I sat with my head in my hands.

Minutes birthed hours.
Hours birthed days.
Days birthed weeks.
Weeks birthed eternity.

I know not how long I remained under that oak,
But I knew the cascading emotions within would not calm,
I rose to my knees, conjuring up some false hope,
Doing anything that I could to make myself carry on.

I found myself yearning for the poison once again,
I found my soul pleading and begging for another taste,
I felt my very ashes being ground against the grain,
As I locked myself away in solitude, my mind ever on that waste.

Life feels so very grey now,
Every color faded and old,
Crawling on by somehow,
With this heart still ice cold.

Here I still am, and here I will remain,
I wait for my live-giving spark to return,
Praying for an end to this ceaseless hurt and pain,
Praying for the singular want I still yearn.

Color to coat this grey slate.