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Psychostasis Jul 21
I sat in the van with no idea of what to do
Which wasn't unusual
But what was unusual, was the aching feeling of eyes peeling away my skin from the distance
The etched-out image of a human dancing in my peripherals only made things worse
I tried thinking thoughts of pleasant days
But the night sky seeped into my thoughts by crawling through my eyes and infecting my mind

The sun cracked and tore away pieces of its shell
To illuminate the land with its soft kindness
Rather than beat it down with harsh and unforgiving, life bringing daylight.
I felt at peace but precariously
Like I should rest, but the absolute second I close my eyes
Snarling jaws would appear around my throat
The silent and beautifully peaceful night would shriek with sounds of gunshots
And by morning I'd be left a pile of bones and stripped flesh

Those thoughts began to fester
Inside I felt cornered and unable to give my mind peace
Outside, prey to predator waiting on the chopping block to be torn apart
Like a present under the tree

So as I sat, first in silence, then to the gentle heartbeat of music
I debated guitar
Too jittery
I pondered calls
People despise late night nonsense

The air grew thick with tension, doubt, paranoia, disgust, acceptance and love as I realized the only way to pass this time
The only way I could end my daily date with the moon and stars
And return to the solitude of my peace
Was to sing to the universe itself
Until my song ended
Whether or not that was my choice.
Now I typically want that choice more than anything else
But something was wrong this time

So I sat and spoke to the moon
Or maybe to the stars
Or to God
Or to Myself
Or to no one at all
And yanno what?

Whoever,
Whatever
I spoke to in this time where I was vulnerable only to myself
Told me something I'd never forget:

Live for.
Live For
Psychostasis Jul 21
Sunday mornings we would make breakfast together.
I always burned the bacon a little bit too much for your taste
Or overcooked the eggs
And sometimes we wouldn't eat at all
We'd stay in bed and sleep until one of us had to go

I'd wake up to small strips of light firing through your brightened blinds
And hear you singing somewhere near
And every morning you would sing
And it would wake me from my frozen trance with a warm smile
And sometimes even lull me back to sleep to much more soothing dreams

But one day you stopped singing
And your songs became more and more rare
Beaten into a gentle hum that could only be heard from the same room

And then you stopped humming
You'd get this quiet sadness in your eyes and while I'd try to help
Or alleviate it in anyway I could
It would linger like the ghost of a parent

I'll miss the morning tunes the most I think
But maybe I was right about one thing in all of this
Maybe things are better this way

But darling, do I miss the ******* music from your soul
And I hope one day
You find your song again
And someone
Or some situation
That makes you sing every morning
To greet the sun as warmly as it will you.
Psychostasis Jul 16
Eat
Sleeping through pain is a tumor
Eventually
All emotions become scary
And you'd rather sleep
And starve your soul
And become a martyr for your fears
Than feel anything other than temporary happiness

I am the Apple Tree.
Please, feast
Psychostasis Jul 16
I was once accused of being the devil under a darkened moon on a foggy night

Now, I've met the devil and let me tell you
The devil once beat me with a curtain rack over my back until I bled
Only to pretend it was in the sport of the game

I've met the devil
In fact, the devil used to show my mom love from the end of a fist and the in sunrise after a long night of crying
Would convince her it was in the name of his love for her

I've befriended the devil
The Devil once taught me how to pick locks and marks minding their own business
And to prey on these people, nay,
Opportunities
Like my life depended on it

I've lived with the devil
The devil kept once me locked in a house-shaped-prison before flinging me into the world unprepared, and dazed
Only to blame me for not watching the outside close enough from my foggy window

I've loved the devil
And eagerly, I gutted myself in the devil's name each time she asked me to see my still beating heart
Only to be confused as to why she hated the mess that followed my orders

I've sacrificed to the devil
I've taken my own heart and soul, and impaled them on a blade made of pure jaded spite, only to lay them with all the other hearts I've stolen and pierced
Unknowingly, yet undoubtedly maliciously.

I've kissed the devil
And in that deal I sealed my fate a lifetime of servitude to a soul I helped created
And created a bond with the devil that was forbidden for good reason

I've lied to the devil
Only to have my mistakes return and slash me across the face like the blade that is the sun's beams shedding light on a long night of forgetting problems
No matter how justifiable he claimed I was

I've seen the devil
He watched me from the bottom of an orange tube only to switch his view finder to something he could swim in
And once more, even now,
As it dances on the end of my blunts

I've met the devil
And I've met the devil many times throughout my lifetime
I've met the devil enough times to identify it by smell, or hearing
Despite it coming with a new assortment of blends, and a new chirp every time it appears
****, at one point, it was me

But I know this Now:
I am not (currently),
Nor will I be ever again,
The Devil.
Psychostasis Jul 6
Im pretty good at magic.
Not a sentence I ever thought I'd write because I'm bad at party tricks
And could never identify which one was your card

Lately though, I've been studying with someone
Someone so much better at magic than
I am, I find shivers of joy at every touch

I've seen this woman make ritualistic sacrifice in the name of a better future

Ive seen the clouds bend at the knee, and recoil so that she may see the moon

I've seen smoke clouds dance around her tear stained cheeks as if the bubbling passion underneath were burning off the tears as they fell.

Ive fallen into a deep and unbreakable spell by listening to her bird like songs

Ive seen her fight demons turned cruel by the tides that change at her very wish and baptize the hearts of men in pools of love in its purest, most volatile form

I've seen her tears freeze with sadness as if she were a beautiful portrait frozen in time

Ive seen her curse Gods only for them to bow their heads in shame and apologize like sheepish guilty children.

And sometimes when shes asleep at night,
I can see the angels that come nightly to inspect their fallen sister and ensure her safe travels through the world

I can only hope that I am just as skilled in this craft of passion and evolution
To be able to one day call her truly mine
Psychostasis Jul 3
I survive by snatching breadcrumbs of happiness wherever I can find them
I love giving these breadcrumbs to those around me
Being able to make people happy
Somewhat more fulfilled
Maybe even make them smile
But now the strangest things have happened
A cascading fall of kingdoms releasing prisoners long cast into a dreamland of strange clouds, and nightmarish shadows
The cry for help heard around the world followed by the roaring outrage of its noble hearted
A plague of misinformation

For some reason the breadcrumbs don't fall from wherever they do, anymore
For some reason, I've become thinner
Hungrier
Now every breadcrumb feels like a feast
Every minor win my greatest achievement to date
Every loss, a tragedy and product of my own actions and choices

Last night was the first time I found a pile of breadcrumbs
Just waiting, with brightly lit lights gleaming off the toasty surface

And last night was the first time
That after gorging myself with breadcrumbs until I could no longer eat from discomfort
And investing many of them towards my freedom
I was sliced open
And forced to give them back

And now, I'm bleeding.
But the funniest part about it is
The hunger pangs have returned
And as my sliced belly growls
And I swim in the pool I've collected
All I can think about
Is another ******* Breadcrumb.
Psychostasis Jul 2
Pages of burning emotion flutter through the wind
Flipping from one end of my journey and milestones to the other
Letting the sun kiss each page as it transfers

The ink is dry
But the blood, and tears I've graced these pages with are very much still running through the words planted in the same field.

My pen screamed and etched images of my future
As my brain burned with a passion magnified by a deep sickness

And as the gunshots of thought blare
My pen rams the pages

And then silence
The scribbling scratches of the quill quiets down
And the accelerated breathing turns soft and shakey

The Prophet ends his journal entry
With a slice of the thumb
A bit of blood smeared on his art to ensure his life stays with it
And a night of deep sobbing stalking closely behind.
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