Thank you all for all the love. It means the world to me. If you wanna get down to a personal level with me (anything from emailing work for critique, or just to be buddies) then by all means. Again, thank you guys.
Cheers,
Andrew

Hakrim13@gmail.com
Requiemandrevelation.tum­blr.com
Instagram/Twitter: @AndrewRequiem
Or feel free to message on here.

I found her near a large Oak in the woods,
Not far from where that old cabin stood,
She was sputtering blood and not far from death,
I hadn't much water, but I gave her what was left,
Her eyes so weary and the purest black,
I felt heartless and wondered what her attacked,
Her wounds malicious and so very deep,
Yet she didn't convulse or even weep,
The Sun was almost rising then,
I wondered what compelled such men,
She had been, the passed night, all alone,
I knew all she wanted was Home,
And slowly her eyes went right to mine,
At that moment, I knew inside,
I watched every ounce pass from this life,
I sat there, pathetic, wondering if I could cry,
I heard her last painful and drowning breath,
She heard, like a gavel, my passing steps.

I will never forget your ugly face,
I'll grow sleepless at night in your disgrace,
At what measure do you think my hatred ends?
I want your pulse to race, quicken,
I want your insides to explode and infect,
I want to be the one to dissect,
I need to feel and see your lament,
You'll ******* boot you ******* insect.

"Every now and again, it feels as if life begins to end"
But on the rare occasion where, lost  in memory again,
I think of being young and finding comfort in the rain,
And growing up so quickly, that nothing is the same.
-
A gentle flash in mind back to those summer days,
To the sweet taste of tea, to the Mississippi waves,
I remember a hollow road betwixt Magnolia trees in bloom,
The oily green leaves, and cloudy white bulbs do my mind consume,
Walking up to school with childlike innocence in tow,
Once happy with everything, a feeling since then stowed,
I seem to recall my first best friend,
He was thirteen, I was but nine then,
I had found my first wisdomless idol,
And sorrowed life had yet to trifle,
With anything yet passed to me,
With roots like this, how could one hate everything?
The warm grass itchy with Saturday's chores,
The sun loved the shadow that I now abhor,
I miss this careless beauty right to my core,
What was once my  home, Alabama, I adore.

One peculiar dark, and frigid night,
I took to gaze upon the somber light,
Not quite illustrious in their sight,
Yet were inspiration to thoughts contrite,
Acutely I felt, as it were,
To hearing the Biblical thunder,
Yet I could see no seal asunder,
I stared up and began to wonder.
-
They seemed so organic, yet lifeless and vexed,
They  betray one another leaving wake perplexed,
Their existence, a lie to live so convex
The lust, crave-less, without love or ***,
And as my lungs filled again with smoke,
A steady exhale belied when I spoke,
Softly and gentle, hardly a croak,
A whisper perhaps, of a hatred invoked.
-
It  seems to me that this beautiful sky
Is but an illusion, a trick on the eye,
This precious star was dead before we saw its light,
Its life meaningless, a piteous invite,
To feign the bane of the rain's reigning vain hope,
Is to stifle the wonderous seeds of the brain's growth,
Therefore it must be pointed out that meaning is meaningless,
Everything up there was dead long before we noticed.

I only exist,
"Life" is meaningless,
The Disease
Referred to as "Humanity",
The dereliction of society,
Maniacal and left wanting,
Is wont to tragedy, the haunting
feeling of regression,
Our worthless race is lost.

The River was dredged in multitudes,
A shadow of foreshadowing,
Against the mud and ichor, the servitude,
...The mass of bodies that came to floating,
Each face found lifeless, frozen genocide,
The peace in death, lost senses,
Against the tides the Moon hadn't faced,
The creeping stigmata, relentless.
Each one found their own disgrace,
The shocking scene of horror,
Left aversion in each innocent face,
Disturbed, the fishermen who found it
To be gentile in its own way,
The bloated faces rotting,
Beautiful in their decay.

She came, foreseen then,
I waited for her to show
The Plague of the World.

My lance, my Lord,
Shall purge the weak,
My sword will it then follow,
If not, then cord
Me to a cross, burned until the morrow.
My shield, your arm,
I seek what you would need,
My gentry, my farm,
Is yours, my Lord, for you, my Lord I bleed.

Undoubted, this level of worship,
Reaching above pulling currents
That justifies imposing torment
And yet drips blood of the calcified.
"It is inherent," I'm o'er told,
"To find and end your searching,
To seek but one thing to love."
What if I hate everything?
What if I'd be one with death,
What if I strive for your lament?
Perhaps I lust for some psychosis
Perchance to wake in your nightmares,
How is it, my dear, so far from belief,
That I would see this whole world burn?
Swallowed with plague,
Tyranny falls,
Dictatorships topple,
Monarchy crawls,
Your loved ones suffer,
Your friends all die,
Words become acid,
Tears are suicide,
Encrypted genomes
Now unlocked with instinctual bliss,
The inner beast assumes power,
The concious mind now sleeps,
Crime is objective,
A pure outlook of opinion,
Flayed heads on pikes,
The sentries of deception,
I want apocalypse in all forms
Spared of all deities' protection
I want the human mistake erased,
I want requiem and revelation.

The verdict read guilty
The indictment so empty
I care for your suffering
Your empty regret,
The humanity is passion,
Feelings of disease,
You don't feel anything for me and rightly so,
Misguided, you say you see love,
Yet I am all that that is despise,
I am hatred and misery,
I am the empty casket
Summoned up from the abyss,
Your heart is a liar,
You've yet to scratch the surface.

Look upon this withered heart torn from its gaping womb,
From a cage most unintact that splattered this solemn room,
It lies awaiting to beat again yet life just passes by its hollow eyes,
What was once lost could not be found, left with the burden of despise,
A reinvention of mediocrity has met its final wandering doorstep
Yet tragically, the aftermath of such adventure falters forthwith,
reincarnate this heart, this necessary human gear, like clockwork,
And let it suffer and die again in this arbitrary life where death lurks,
In the moment's passing wind, may it hear the name that was its own,
And in its last breath, may it whisper the name that made this so.

I’ve never struggled with words before,
The bending of language I do adore,
Yet each time I try to write to describe
Your effect on me my mind just dies,
My brain befuddled, hollow and weak,
Taken aback not unlike that of disease,
I get so nervous, seeming somber and wrecked,
But inside I am all that is vexed,
I want so dearly to be near to you,
I consider the distance but only a step or two,
I wait for your words to find my phone,
I sit still and stare at it when I’m alone,
I anticipate the fletched light to be shone,
I hope someday to call your heart home.

A vast landscape spanning mountains and valleys,
Enter entombed upon the dark marsh and gullies.
-
The trees, all decayed except the weeping willows,
Flattened forests jut up through the hillocks.
-
The call of a raven can be heard betwixt,
The open cavemouth of all silence,
The breeze concerns your cheek’s fine flesh,
And you know inside that God exists.
-
The beautiful darkness that escapes the light,
Shocks as if thunder were having its fright.
-
From the gorgeous hillside at where Cain murdered Able,
To the trepid path leading to Four horses’ stable.
-
The wind’s vague touch clearing fallen leaves,
The spring’s dripping water rids of disease,
Ash of the cremated flows through the air,
Swept up, caught in without despair.
-
Sharing stories around a somber fire,
The warming words do stoke the pyre.
-
The Black Cabal does peak between,
The center valley betwixt mounts obscene,
-
The abhorrent cathedral in gothic fashion,
Does purify in all reactions,
Leaving clean and reborn again,
Remaining free for eternity to gate about Eden.

Something is different, her smile is rare,
What I give to see it upon a face so fair,
She cries at night, she doesn’t know I hear,
I wish I knew what she may fear.
-
It festers at me, I know it’s my doing,
Of anyone else, I bring all ruin,
She no longer sleeps through the night,
She leaves the bed to stand outside.
-
Fathoms deep in her own head,
I hear her speak softly, her words lessened,
If at all she speaks at first,
I wait upon each ******* word.
-
The fire in her eyes has been quenched to me,
The tragic loss to beautiful artistry,
For them I’ve doted upon very cold nights,
A shell of what she was, my own soul I fight.
-
We used to walk about the streets,
The empty boulevard and speak of dreams,
We have since stopped, she has no time,
I understand, disturbed she is of this heart of mine.

It seems as if the leader is quelling the storm,
Bringing issues alight that would, in other places, not warrant,
It seems as if the people hug and hold hands,
They sing songs, they speak highly of all and dance,
The heads remain firmly in the sand,
Objectively blind to all other lands,
It seems as if the tension has snapped to bring about
Peace and love.
-
Speak your mind, swallow a bullet.
Cooperate conglomerate, sacrifice your fears for propaganda,
Spare the rod, spoil the child,
We are owned without realization,
You can’t even begin to understand.
Youth in revolt, the government spies,
Drone strike your own and wash your hands,
We detain citizens in an act of anti-patriotic terrorism.
This is fascism with two choices every four years,
A system of fictitious democracy and flawed capitalism,
Remains upon the grounds of tribulation and false control.
The sheep control the wolves, the wolves are brainless.
Blood money and cigars that cost more than you’ve made in a year
Bring about our destruction.
We take it like a latex slave awaiting the crop,
We deserve everything we’ve been given because we’re without thought.
I’ve seen soldiers destroy innocent people,
I’ve seen politicians bought for fine dine and arrogant suits.
I’ve seen the weak die for no reason other than a gamble.
I’ve seen you all mindless watching the television.
I’ve seen the way you act as if this government owes you.
I’ve seen you not think at all.
You breathe and waist air, you continue to push
I resist the urge to exist, I can not wait to die,
“Freedom through Death”, a ******* lie,
No one has money, You only get as much freedom as you can buy.

O, Lord forgotten please accept
Me upon my mission bereft,
I look to the stars in darkness and cry,
And teeming with demons I ask you why,
And how I can be rid of myself,
How may I ask you for help?
Please remain with me where others have left,
Please linger with me as I conquer each step,
Forgive my wrath, forgive my hatred,
Please stay in my destitute heart, my Savior.
In all my life I shall remember my words,
About the others who walk with the heard.
Nunquam animadverto paradisum,
Omnes perdes qui scitus I,
In nomine Patris et Filii,
Et Spiritus Sancti.

All the world locked outside,
You tread on despite my cries,
Sewing memories afloat with pain,
And forgetting them in my brain.
Your needle steady, your foot secure,
Upon my now empty chest you endure,
You thread and step across my mind,
You ***** your torture slowly in time,
Of all things now I wish could be
Is that you would again feel something for me,
So that you’d know the agony you’ve caused,
So that you could see the  blood I’ve lost,
I want your heart to again reveal,
I want you to personally feel,
For these familiar wounds have in time healed,
But I want you to know this pain unreal.
It Could Have Been So Much More.

A vibrant, boundless beauty,
Cast against the midnight tide,
I find you most enduring
While upon the soft waves you glide.
You kissed me with some kind of freedom,
The taste of which was an awakening,
And your skin, like Eastern silk moving
Upon mine in perfect contrition.
The absence is unlike anything
That was felt any time ago,
I do find myself at times worrying,
Where will I ever go?
Unperturbed and undisturbed,
The loll of heartache and sensations,
Have rendered me now incapable,
And have turned my heart to immolation

I know for a fact,
So yield to react,
That you birthed into a beautiful girl
A bright orange bird in a bleak ,grey world,
And to all the fondness I hide inside,
You know for you both, I would have died,
For you and any reason, all loss of control,
So long as you're happy, my life is full,
I know sometimes we don't get on,
But we've never had a darkest dawn.
I am for you, always here,
I hope that you speak with ne'er a fear,
We bleed the same, but it's more than that,
My love for you spans higher than mountains, to be exact.
I must be straight and not play with my words,
I am excited to watch you grow up, you gorgeous orange bird.

You are the petal that breaks free from the flower.
You are the last fluorescent string of sunshine before dusk.
You are the ripped wings of an insect.
Your "love" was cancerous
Your intent was murderous,
Your opinions, over zealous
And your range always jealous.
You are the last wave of the night tide.
You are the meteor to the moon.
You are Nothing,
Yet something,
Without good;
Just rotting.
You are the "darkest before the dawn."
You are the winter that killed the rose.
You are the nuclear holocaust,
That burned each bridge
And broke each road.
You are Loneliness in company,
You are a sunken charter.
You are a skipping record,
On the wrong part of the song.
You are famine with emotion,
You are the feign of hope.
You are my epitome of hatred,
You are the birdsong that is but a croak.
You are weakness and decay,
You are a fatal wound.
You are terminal illness.
You are not worth a breath,
You are what I can not accept.
You Are ******* Revolting.
You ******* Disgust Me.

Drowning spectators with hollow eyes,
Crucified demons remain inside,
Trying to be rid of their sullen crimes
Journeys through thinnest of thicks,
The revolting resolution makes all sick,
Burning at both ends of the wick
We are all spared in the eyes of our own
By those of us who share the word "home",
Although, it seems no light has shone,
I can't imagine a place so corrupt,
The fictional realities, this world is ******,
I pray for plague, some kind of luck,
To bring about some sort of disaster,
Upon the broken hand of each caster,
Of woe and porcelain alabaster.  
All the questions not withstanding,
I remain glad to be not worth saving.

With your programmed morality
And persecuting isolation,
You sit quite solemnly
Quiet with your permentaion,
Morbid savagery
While the blood draws to fermentation,
Awaiting gallantly,
For your front page execution.
-
This is the last thing you saw before death,
Before arrival of the faithful guillotine;
My face crooked into a smile,
And my eyes that backed the Devil down,
Sinister and cynical,
I wiped the earth of you before,
And now, alas, a chance for history to repeat...
Penance of your grievences
Are worth their weight in sequences
And ****, the corruptable fallicies,
I only pray that I see your eyes lose all soul,
And of that, I only believe in me,
In Nothing.

I walked in to find you amongst dreams in my bed,
All else was foggy, I thought I was dead,
Without lust or worry, I slid under a sheet,
And cradled you until I fell asleep,
I held you softly, listening to each breath,
And prayed to hear you in Heaven upon my death.

And why is it that with every sip of bourbon
I gaze into your eyes?
How can it be that I smell your perfume everywhere?
What sense does it make that I see your face in my dreams?
I have not seen you in so long yet almost every thought I have reverts to you....
Though I do not complain,
Somehow it causes pain
To see all yearn, no gain, from seeming I'm insane,
I awake with your kiss on my lips,
For false dreams and hopes, your memory sticks,
What's worse, is that we converse with quips
Of how it may have been, yet is,
You sway as the ocean's tide at dawn,
When beautiful sunlight crest's its yawn,
As innocent as a devout deer's fawn,
Yet your guile does show its brawn,
Your vision to me in dreams is steady,
Stagnant at night while my heart grows heavy,
If only you knew, if only I'd say
That the warmth for you yet grows each day,
Each moment that passes craves detention,
Respect for all my admiration,
Betwixt your legs and arms' invention,
I pray to spend each night's volition.
Of all the words in my graspable language,
You escape all knowledge of my brain's sanguine,
And of all the things I could say and do,
The plainest and strongest, I Love You.

I watched you desecrate the graves of all I loved that died.
I heard your voice before the light left my eyes,
Your lips that so swiftly spit falsehoods and horror,
Have been severed from many of those who abhor
The thought of your return like locusts' exploded wings.
You live only but to destroy the beautiful things.
I witnessed the struggle of those drowning in your spite,
And your mere essence constricts the air to tight
Velvet that infects the lungs of any too close,
An elephant on our chests, and all of those
Promises and sanctuaries rotted long ago,
But your brightest day looks on the bleakest tomorrow,
I have returned and promised your misery,
And to forfeit your programmed sincerity
This is your Hell from ceiling to floor,
And as you enter, notice my name above the door.

I remember it was at my father's old home,
You came to visit, so we could be alone,
To discuss certain actions and feelings alike,
When I saw you, the air in my lungs got tight.
Excited and nervous, I slightly paced,
As you walked up my drive in all your grace,
How is it that after seven years, I still feel shy?
My heart almost stopped when looked in your eyes.
You had on your favorite dress,
You voiced to me you'd like to rest,
I replied, my room is yours to take,
You said, can you come up and put bed to make?
So coy and mischievous, your smile entwined, yet
So innocent and vague, I could never decline.?
I followed you up the stairs and then,
To my room to make your bed,
As you sat upon a chair of pine,
You spoke to me of the daily grind,
Of how life was half-a-world away,
And how you already wished to stay,
I said, it is so nice to see you again,
It seemed like almost forever and then,
Mid-sentence, you stood, and grabbed my hand,
We stood so close just to understand,
Our shallow breathing gave us both away,
We knew we'd be together by the end of the day.
-
And, My Love, When I Felt Your Lips Against Mine, I Believed In Heaven.
I Believed In The Paradise That I Knew
Were In Your Heart And Mind, That I Knew I Was. I Have Never Tasted Something As Perfect As You. Your Lips Held The Promise Of Cool Rain In The Drought,
Your Eyes, After We Separated From Our Kiss, Held The Purest Form Of Happiness
That Erased My Otherwise Hatred. You Let Me Believe That I Was Meant To Love.
Was Meant To Be Something. You Took The Pain And Left Me Smiling And Smitten.

It took a while for me to understand
And see the shadow that plagues the strand
Of hope and logic that I have left
Of being inept, adept at best,
I can't recall how a warm bed feels,
Incapable of seeing what's real,
The scent from pillow is long since gone,
And I question softly, "what went wrong?"
What happened to the paradise,
When did everything need to be precise,
Why does dysfunction find me and lo,
Why does my songbird sing like a crow?
Nothing is as I was taught it to be,
Ill-prepared for "you and me"
Everything seems as if time just laughs,
And innocence is lost in the slaughtered calf,
It's as if I had a future there,
And then the gale blew ash as air,
Smothered the sunlight and took what remained,
Of an otherwise optimistic day.

I hold on to my cigarette for that last drag,
Right before I almost flick it
The last breath of calming air,
The last moment to not worry.
I salute the sky with my cup
To taste the last drop of bourbon
Because sleeping sober seems daunting.
I watch the pines bend, hearing them creak,
With the scent of old oak split for the fire,
I'm nervous and confident and shy
And outgoing and hateful and happy,
And I love kissing and cooking,
I've been to almost every state,
Taking in gorgeous terrain,
I write for "you" for "her" for "me",
For "them" and about nothing,
I sing from my heart and develope
True lies from what's inside me,
I want my friends and family to
Die first so that I know no one will
Will miss me because dying is bad enough,
But knowing they're hurting more is worse.
I look up at the stars at night when
I can see them, and I wonder
"Where am I going?"
And every time, I swear to God,
A shooting star flies.
You'd think something so fast would
Make a sound, but its silence only
Preserves it's glory.
I always heard that they were rare,
I've seen so many, I've lost count,
And honestly, I think that's a tragedy
Because I should awe and wonder at such
Faithless beauty.
I don't think that I am different,
I think I am myself,
But I also counter argue
With the fact that if everyone were themself
We'd all be the same.
Individual sheep in a herd.
These are mindless ramblings,
Of a worried and loving person,
But also the fears of a mildly depressed human.
I go back home to clear my head
And appreciate that I am welcome.
It's an odd thought, but I realize
That is one hundred times better than
Some people have it.
I'm concerned but greatful,
I'm awash with misery,
I'm excited and resilient,
And happy, and dismayed.
It's hard when you know who you are,
But not how to Be.

My Dear, it is incredulously
Important that I am willingly
Rendering this letter innocently,
To you, who holds my heart.
It started in the Fall,
For now seven years in all,
Even when the wind will loll,
I remember we are apart.
I used to sleep...and dream of you,
Now the nights are absent, all untrue,
The rends of tomorrow that hold no glue,
The engine is withholding.
Cohesive and all but branding,
I was ever so understanding,
Honesty was our safest landing,
From a leap so foreboding.
An empty nest, an abode so cold,
Just a house now, no one is home.
And endless bound where Nothing roams,
I am all that is longing.

Invisible forceps hold my eyes open,
Incongruous actions have my mind stolen,
At where beginnings end in misery,
At where "The End" is stressed bitterly.
Corrections and titles have made amends
To resounding ripples of tugs and bends
Upon the surface at where life may lie,
And carry us all beyond mind and sky...
Yet locked on the bedrock and solemn remains
Of which sins of fathers now decay,
We sit upon catapult, on trebuchet
Awaiting a life in which we sustain
Charitable notions and build the way,
For a time in which we smile in the rain.
It feels as though I'm lost in a dream
and am searching for water in steam,
Possible, improbable, awaiting the cool,
To siphon it down into a pool,
And perhaps there my flooded reflection
Will not surpass without detection,
And maybe I will gaze into myself
And realize I am here to help,
To see and touch and taste and feel,
To hear and Be, a part of what's real,
I will know the true darkness inside my eyes,
By looking beyond my own disguise.

Like the raindrops that once rendered a kiss
Upon my dripping, wonting lips
You watched as the words formed and took shape
And fluttered gently without escape
And by your eyes did I despise
Each time that I had not to them lied
For you saw heartache in my chest,
And softly put my head to breast
To lay and weep and hope to live
The sound of my dying was corrosive.
-
Each breath and tear beneath enigma
Was cause enough for wretched stigma
Although you hadn't broken it
My heart was worth its weight in ****,
And as I passed, you looked forlorn,
Forboding silence on an awaiting shore,
Pretending not to love is worse
Than losing all you had endorsed,
If fate is naught but falsehood's truth,
I'd give the world to not be rid of you.

For a time, I was what you thought of
For a time, I was your truth...
For a time I was what you sought most
For a time, I wasn't blue.
In time, you came to love me
In time, it wasn't there,
In time, and still, I loved you,
And I still breath your air.

This, my tomb of "solace", has not heard me stir,
For months I lay here dying upon little spoken words,
Ingratiating sadness upon what little I have left,
Forced upon a decision to return what was bereft.
-
I must make clear in present story
That I fear not God, nor Glory,
I must **** to not "feel" but "Be"
Whatever here entices me.
Pray tell, what is it that you fear most?
Your Hell, I fear, that I must host.
-
A couplet, a stanza, here and there,
About someone's false blood in air,
For fear of failure do I not agree,
At yet, I claim Death's Majesty.
For you see, I am Death's Reincarnate,
His Left Hand, His "Doom's Profligate"
-
Enchanting screams of splattering blood,
Empathetic scalpels from a figure in hood,
Fate loves the dying and Her wishes should
Bring actions closer to Her decaying brood.
I save the tears and sanguine to bathe,
The last exhale is what I crave
To hear regularly so I may sleep,
To never awake, is what I dream.

As lead pathologist
I witness my own work daily,
I caress thoughts of interest,
And bring them here after their demise.
My latest case, my last victim
Witnessed me lead her body astray,
And now in death, ironic yet,
As to whom her murderer now portrays.
I cover my own work,
Though honesty is the best defense,
I can tell them what the killer did first hand
And give no recompense.
-
They found her body where I left it,
Like I hoped and knew they would
I'd seen her the night before last,
And thought they rightly should.
Admiring my moonlight work
In my routine A.M. garb,
What obscenities now here lurk,
On my table unperturbed.
-
I begin the autopsy
Of my latest thirst to "Be"
I consider cryptically
Of acting empathetically
-
I locate the Toe-Tag first
"Good morning, Miss Who-Gives-A-****,"
She had thought sweet Death had saved her then,
But I am far from finished yet.
Familiar adhesions from tightened rope,
Emblazoned on her skinless wrist,
"What a monster," I laughed to myself,
Up and down, I check my list.
-
Five-foot-five makes a short short bride,
Though marriage is laughable at best.
White female, dark hair, black eyes,
Dilated from light's detest.
Ears were cut, and teeth were filed,
Apparently so she couldn't bite,
Nose, bullhooked, extremities slashed,
The little dove lost the hope of flight.
-
I removed her eyes again,
I had cut them out before and replaced
But twisted around upside down,
The corneas now front faced.
I placed them in the chemical solution,
That they would not rot until,
Donated to some poor *******
That I would again cut into
-
Putting a block under her back,
Her chest ready for the famous cut,
Down the throat and to the stem,
I perfect it without much luck.
Science dictates to remove the organs,
An examination of internals in effect,
Rationally and with much vigor,
I notice her spine so stiff and *****.
I staple her ***** of skin aside,
And begin to break her sternum,
I would speak now maybe a poet's words,
But I neglected to learn them.
A gruesome crack echoes throughout
The vastly supplied room herein,
I look up, am lost for a moment,
"Ah...", I begin again.
-
Testing the leverage of her ribcage,
I separate both sides until,
I feel the pressured solemn rage,
Of her bones snapping in two.
Full access now, I gaze within
At her lungs, her viscera,
I gently lay scalpel to heart,
And mutilate her parenchyma.
I'm carried away, I flick blade across
Her heart over and again,
Until a matrix of slashes on it
Does appear within,
A wretched mistake, my first,
"Not everyone's perfect," I laugh,
No time to quench the thirst,
I must fix it before seen by the staff,
I stitch carefully with translucent thread,
Perhaps this ploy may avail,
I believe I've just made my death-bed
My days now numbered and frail.
-
Quickly, I bag and tag her insides,
And rest them aside my table,
I stitch her chest back together,
And leave when I am able,
I plan to run as far along,
As my time can take me,
Perhaps I will find some more dissections,
Perhaps just to sustain me.

I know little of the fury
And the misanthropic scurry
Of the little ones inside ourselves,
That we hide awashed away.
Of what I do know daunting,
Is the image left so haunting
In the visage of so wanting
And the love I lead astray.
She came and went so tragically
And took her perfect majesty
I think myself so callously,
That I could never her betray.
Were I spared a single gaze,
From eyes I could spend countless days,
I would dream of every way,
To have her not so far away.

The soft wind yet breaks on my cheek,
Its frigidness does my heart keep,
Inside its breath and wantings weep,
I lost everything in the haze of sleep.
-
Upon a drifting willow's bark,
I spied the sights of twisting arc,
The ax that had here made its mark,
Had morosely torn the tree apart.
-
I found there that nothing may change,
Yet everything has something to gain,
The profit in sales of wilting and pain,
Has lead to self-proclaimed "insane."
-
Footprints in sand with tide washed away,
Echoes enchant the hive mind, astray
I walk only to get through wretched today,
Tomorrow holds no reason to stay.
-
Love contaminates the air I breath,
Infections break in my head and seethe
How does one follow this revolting creed?
I know not this virtue, it escapes me.
-
No folly of mine found in books of lore,
I'm not kept hero in tomes of yore,
I remember naught of all before,
And I lay down to die in the awaiting shore.
-
Bitter and relentless does my heart scorn,
That I wish to remove it and flesh betorn,
That my hopes may bring sickle to corn,
That I pray for mourning's distant morn.

My life is a brilliant and vivid mosaic of failures. If depicted horizontally, it would span countless walls, each with its own tapestry. Intertwined in each image would be a visage of myself in yet another battle of me, metaphorically David, and the vastness of the woven problem, here named Goliath. The only difference however, I don't succeed. My slingshot, as it were, isn't good enough.
     "Almost" is a callous and cold word, however it is the most veril word I know. It shouldn't just be something on my body like a tattoo, but rather etched painstakingly into my hardest bones. Always. Always "Almost" is not a fulfilling way to live.
     My Father once said something along the lines of "The only way I wouldn't be proud of you or that I would be disappointed in you is if you did something or made choices that lead to your unhappiness." With that, I feel as though he couldn't have been proud of me in quite some time, and further, there is no evidence that it will change. I am unhappy all of the time. I am disappointed in myself.
     I am afraid, fearful, of the hatred inside myself at times. I try and use it to my advantage, to prove my "worth", to try and do better at the current task (whatever it may be at the time). But as it usually happens, I get so angry, even vengeful, with no explanation. I sit and think about it, come to nothing, and am scared of what I am becoming.
     I am breathing, organic garbage that, because of sentience, assumes too much of, and from, my existence. I am a ******* paradox. I am realistic but full of wishes, longing for what I know does not exist; I am pessimistic, yet full of hopes, or false hopes rather, that I know fullheartedly are hubris and lost time. Whenever I need logic, emotion takes control. Whenever I look for my heart, my mind conceals its help.
     I believe in absolutely nothing but who I think I am, but I doubt myself to my bitter, black core.
I have achieved nothing with what I have been given (everything) and therefore deserve nothing that I have.
     I Am A Fake. I Am A Lie. I pretend to understand, to know, to help, to listen, but I have no idea what the **** I'm doing, who the **** I am, or why the **** I'm even here as undeserving as I am. With that, what right have I at all to "help" anyone else when I, myself, have no idea where my words will lead them? That itself makes me worse than half of the people that have killed others because at least they know who they are and what they were doing.
     I find it hard to believe that I, personally, was crafted in the image of God because I can't imagine that I resemble (in spirit, mind or matter) anything like the Perfect Being that I love and pray to. I am handcrafted debris, trash, attempting (out of place) to be something more.
     I was once told by someone I truly loved, "How can you love someone if you don't love yourself?" It's pretty easy. You first look at them, think of all the things they do and all the things they represent that lead to them making you happy, and you fall in love with that. it isn't a choice, you just do. I do nothing that makes me happy successfully, in the end, I try and fail consistently whereas someone I love is victorious repeatedly just by being them self. Why wouldn't you love someone for making you happy, yet love yourself in spite of your inability to do so?
     I don't believe anything I've ever encountered or experienced in my, as of yet, short life has prepared me for the utmost feeling of loneliness that creeps like the most dark and shadowy oppression. No cigarette is long enough, no vat of bourbon deep enough to escape that thought. Even in upbeat company that fact lingers, and of it, I am afraid.
     Why must I settle and "stay the course"? Why hold onto a sinking ship? I don't mean in terms of living versus dying, I mean in terms of living in insufferable struggle versus changing the reality. Why is this made to seem so impossible?
     Why am I in constant debt before even being old enough, experienced enough, or brave enough to even make decisions with that debt as a possible outcome?
     Since I was old enough to formulate my own opinions of the world I live in, it's been the epitome and meter of one resounding conclusion: "I will try my best and fail, suffer, but in doing this, I will have no choice but to think one day it will get better, and I can hope in my time of struggle that when that day comes, I Might Be Able To Be Happy.
     I'm in love with someone who is half a country away. She even knows, She might even feel the same, but it is for naught. I justify this by telling myself every "writer" needs a Muse.
     I lack the natural talent required to achieve my dreams in this current world. I was born with a gift I should have kept the receipt with; something I could have traded for something more realistically useful.
     Those closest to me have no idea who I am. They are the only thing that glues my sanity, and I'm fearful if they fully knew what I am, they'd leave.
     I've condensed some of these thoughts and feelings into spoken words to those I trust the most, hoping and praying they might say this is normal, that everyone goes through this, that we are all fighting the good fight. Their deaf ears betray their silent mouths.
     The rhythm in music, the voices in plays, the words to poems, the flow of my pencil, are all I have to escape this solitary confinement. But upon realizing the only things I have to help me feel "normal" are inanimate and incapable of understanding, it only further drives me into the chasm.
     I have become everything I hate. A petulant, assuming, and undeserving child ******* about his life when it's not even fully begun, and worse, has been given everything along the way and pitifully has done nothing with ******* any of it.
     I look at my Father and my Mother, and mouth agape, am stunned at their character, their perseverance. Compared to the two people who made me, I am grovelling ****, with absolutely nothing to complain about.
     I have never made a serious decision in my life unless I fully knew the only outcome before the decision was made. This makes me a coward. Logically it might make sense, but this is real life, you shouldn't do that, and **** logic.
     I always have an excuse, I'm not a real man, I'm afraid to take a fall because it's just another piece of the prosecution's evidence pointing to the guilt I possess in relation to my long record of failures.
     I'm cast outside "normalcy" because I don't believe in society. I'm not afraid to die, death actually intrigues me, a lingering curiosity. I adore the macabre because I believe there is truth of humanity in the darkness that everyone ignores exists. We profit and capitalize on procedures that **** thousands, but because it's not us they target, and usually not until the long run, we pay no mind. I believe that more than half of our so called "society", myself included, are no better in most senses than Dahmer or Panzram. At least they were honest about the monsters they were.
     I'm obsessed with thing that don't matter; theories that wouldn't make a difference in the world if proven true, questing for a Love that I rightly don't deserve and that likely doesn't exist, searching for acceptance of anyone but at the same time and equally, in paradox, caring about none of it, especially myself.
     Most nights instead of praying to God as I intend to do, I find myself wondering if I deserve His forgiveness. I know, on some level or another, if the Holy Father, Himself, came to me at any time during those sleepless nights, I would not have an even close to decent answer arguing for His forgiveness, but rather, a full of tears and chopped up, pathetic plea for it anyway.
     I dream of someone to love romantically just for the sake of being able to love someone for exactly who they are and because doing so makes me happy. It has been so long passed of this being even close to a chance of reality, that the thought of ***, or even intimacy, without that love does not even interest me anymore.
     I'm twenty years old and every job I work wants one-hundred percent of my soul and time. Is this normal? Am I not allowed to be a responsible but stupid kid for a while before I have to settle with the reality of a mundane and mind/body numbing job that takes so much of your day that at night you can only imagine the freedom of sleep rather than having a spare few precious seconds for thinking that dying has the upside of never having to show up to that ******* place again? I have no problem with working at all, in fact, I appreciate anything that has a general task and goal that is monotonous enough to keep my mind focused just enough that anything I've written here, the things that upset me, don't leak in and ruin the day, but realistically, how can I give my soul to cutting lawn? To stocking a ******* shelf? I am part of the worst generation on Earth so far, I have potential to be better than ninety--nine percent of the drooling unfortunate vertebrae we call "society", and this is what I'm supposed to wake up for? If this is what I need to accept and I'm just going crazy, fine, I accept it, but in doing this, you need to accept that if I'm crazy, you're batshit ******* nuts.
     I find myself not ever wanting to wake up. I'm not even close to suicidal, I don't want to die yet, I just can't see a logical point, or an emotional reason for any of this nonsense to continue. Can anyone identify with that? Don't misconstrue and worry yourself with me being honest with myself, I DO wake up. I wash my face, but I look in the mirror afterwards and ask "Why?", and I get the day over with anyway so I can hurry up and get home to get ready to do everything over again exactly the same the next day the exact same way, the only difference being the date on the calender and the minutes of the one life I get slowly building themselves into hours and days that will now be an empty black void of memory in my head that could've been used for something worth remembering. Why? Why settle to sulk and squander in ***** and depression when you haven't even tried to bathe in gold and happiness?
     I hate almost everything. The way things are, have been, will be. I hate the faceless sheep that complain yet attempt nothing to change their circumstances. If there is one thing to look on with pride, it is at least I'm better than that. At least if I failed, by default it means I ******* tried.
     I lack the capacity and the capability to voice these kinds of thoughts. As well-spoken as I am, I choke the hardest when I try to speak about any of them. I have to scribble and usually type them, and further, put them in a format a possible reader might be able to understand. Alas, I have failed at that as well. I put my heart and thoughts into my poetry, but anything resonating from within me that I've pounded into the countless pages I've written is lost in a sea of meter and rule-abiding rhetoric as well as aesthetically and audibly pleasing metaphors and rhyme-schemes rather than just blunt structure. No one reads anything with nothing left to the imagination. And justly so, why would they? Why try to decipher someone's heart if it doesn't also apply to you? Why read an ending if you know you won't like it unless it has "happily ever ******* after"? Why not emulate the thoughts and endure the cramping in the thumb an forefinger if it's not something you already know or something you clicked "like" on to impress the friend with the independent mind that was the one who told you to read it in the first place? I may sound bitter, I am, and hateful, but at least I am not a liar.
     If I had one absolute thing, one pure thought, one controversial heading, one cry to all who have ever asked me and I have failed to explain it better; If I can leave you with one thing; If it were possible for me to speak one line to the empty church at my funeral when I die someday and move on to peace, it would be this:
The Words I Seek With Which I Wish To Express My True Misery Elude Me.

And she held her breath...
And she rebuilt what was left,
She watched me fall with worried eyes,
She stood as a friend against all I despised,
She never told me about herself,
Or how I could maybe help,
I regret never holding her hand,
I regret not asking her to dance,
It seems as though it cannot be,
But I push eternally,
She is not a prize nor a dressing,
She is happiness, a blessing,
I find myself smiling just to think
Her image carries me to the brink,
Of sheer joy and harmony,
Why couldn't I see,
That when I was so hurting,
When she was all comforting,
That she wanted my abnormality,
Of gentlemanly morality,
Where she could also be happy,
And where I could dote upon her so sappy,
I write with her in mind as Muse,
Unattainable, my mind abused,
Tormented as I speak,
And so I press to seek
The words to describe her justly,
As my heart begins its rusting.
-
She is the dream you wake up in the middle of
And fervently think about so hard that you force yourself
Back to dreamland in hopes to see her again.
She is the sky, that marble blue,
That is more beautiful than anything you've ever seen.
As well as the starry night, her mysteries hold
More questions than Tut's tomb.
She is the sun,
The burning light that so gently touches cheek,
That it's as though you fell asleep on a cloud.
She is the fury of the Divine Comedy,
That even in tragic happenstance,
Everyone might once be content and joyous.
She is the rythm behind my song,
That carries me to a place where I have courage.
She is the wind that swoons and sends the chills
Down my awaiting spine.
The breath that pushes my ribs out and in,
And the blood that feeds my heart to beat.
She is the train that promises a new beginning
In an unfamiliar place, a happy thought indeed,
Especially with the promise of perfection.
She wanders through my mind,
Wanders, and finds so many places to stay.
She is the fuel behind the fire in my head
That flows from eyes, to brain, to pen.
She is my vain and false hope,
That I may one day right my wrong
And take her hand,
And ask to dance,
And caress her cheek,
Run fingers through her hair,
And bless me with the kiss
That I've pondered over for years now ,
and years to come.
Of all the words I write, my Muse,
Most will be for you.
The unattainable goddess,
The moon, so close, so far,
The beauty of a starcast night,
The glimmering of ocean waves,
The eyes that see and know,
That my heart and words are for you alone.

In a winding, twisted fate,
The Brothel, I’ve tried to Escape,
The sickening sounds of lips being ******,
The horrid sounds of those being ******,
The slaps of flesh o’er again,
My mind, I cannot now defend,
I hate every minute, every tick,
This endless clock makes me sick,
I dream of sleep that won’t ever come,
I dream of the day I can run,
Escape, Escape, Escape,
I’ll carve it in myself, it should be my name,
I’ve been mislead, indeed, I’ve been stolen,
But these shallow romances so repulsively sodden,
Have left thoughts so in mind forsaken,
Of each *** and race, lifelessly forbidden
The thought of leaving,
This **** hotel is quite deceiving,
I think of how it became
Synonymous in its name,
With “love" and a quenched thirst
Of our lust and ****** rebirth,
For this menagerie of psychopathy
Is the disease among society,
Eyes that I no longer look into as I speak
Gaze into mine as they endeavor to seek
My soul, laughable, they will not find,
To their credit, it’s long since died,
This wretched place holds me with no interest,
And of how I came about, to be honest
I’ve no recollection.
No recognition
Of anything here, nothing is alive,
All that come, just for pleasure strive,
Empty inside and dying within,
I must Escape this place of boundless ruin.

Inside us all, we wish for The One that we have
Ideas of falling endlessly down a blue tinted sky with. In a
Myriad of a countless mind, perfection lies dormant inside.
Vile…the horrors of loneliness in time, and
All lands and waters cannot hold its meaning.
And if meandering glances could speak,
Of Antioch and withered Troy,
My sweet, fabled Helen would be my goddess.
The love I killed without realization…
Remaining requiem lead to devastation,
I solemnly ridicule myself over again,
And riposte, is still there paradise in Eden?
Incredulous, it happens that I know life will not
Pass by my eyes, Sirens will not command their rot,
I live now until entombed, the morgue has never scared me,
But bereft of her, I am a hollow shell that suffers cruelly.

The time in which we gathered together,
Lost in our arms and eyes,
Correctly begins with "Once upon a time..."
And does now beguile my sunrise.
-
A wasteland is wont for many explorers,
In its greed though, it keeps them forever,
But the paradise I found with you
Would light my every endeavor.
-
Were each freckle a map of stars upon,
The shining blue sky this morn,
They"d allow me to navigate your sea of soft skin,
And mend a heart, forlorn.
-
An anchor that kept my vessel afloat
While Poseidon's depression near' took me with him,
I held the key to your heart, fabled Atlantis,
In love as I could ever have been, by an Angel, smitten.
-
The tender kashmir lips,
That promised and fulfilled me to sleep,
Have dispersed long ago,
And have tempted me to weep.
-
Complex reflections of my own inner self,
Revealed the catastrophe in full,
Though you had my heart for yourself,
I couldn't find where it leisurely lulled.
-
Young and daft, I took my own risks,
Risks that transformed into sorrow,
Shielded at last, that upon my cask'
Shall be writ' "perhaps joy comes on the morrow"
-
The serene, subcontious Siren
Knows not even of her own beauty,
With eyes that could stop time and planes
Of space, she can, so truly.
-
I beg to be rid of the memories,
I ask for constant euthanasia,
I consume to forget entirely
And regret my own mistakes here.

I rested my elbow upon my desk,
Thinking of times my mind could caress,
I came up with naught, and was impressed
With all the thoughts I could detest,
I sat and swept throughout my mind,
With what I could eventually find,
In peace, in life, in hatred, in kind,
And I fell through the cracks of spiteful time.
I hated how we spent time being oblivious and lolling,
This kept me forever,
And The Rain Kept Falling.
-
She walked along a road with bare feet,
Hoping some help there she would meet,
She evaded the devil in the house she escaped,
Her torso was lacerated, knees were scraped,
She was forced to perform for this man of hate,
He watched as he forced her to *******,
He ***** her, over, again and again,
She cried for help, to break free of his sins,
She wished for death but it wouldn't come,
She wished for just one chance to run,
Now being chased like a prisoner of old,
He would find and punish her for being so bold,
Her captor, with vigor, saught to mutilate,
this "little *****" for being late,
Upon finding the cell at where she was chained
Vacant, he saught to force the change,
He endeavored to find her with malicious will,
In vain hope, she hoped the police would ****
This ******* who had tied her up
And repeatedly forced her to sup
Upon the remains of his countless others,
That he had captured and forced on eachother,
She was found three days later with a bullet in her head,
And carved in her torso "the ***** is dead",
The syndrome, the sickness is all but enthralling,
She looked for hope but
The Rain Kept Falling.
-
Dismal, he sat and contemplated,
The way his life had reverberated,
He thought of the children his wife took from him,
She lied to her husband and put lust above him,
He was the best father that anyone could tell,
He loved his children, would do anything for them.
But because his wife had stolen their lives,
He couldn't sleep at all, but cried,
She escaped justice by pleading insanity,
She bragged of it later, bathing in vanity,
He decided that with nothing left,
To live for, except the greed for death,
That he would find and take her soul,
Send her to Hell and then control,
Every aspect of his suicide,
And stop her, being "sanctified",
He crept at night to her abode,
And then proceeded to invade her home,
He began by gagging her and tying her to posts,
Then pulling each extremity until, severed from host,
He ripped her apart for what she stole,
Then slit her throat to watch the flow,
Until the last bit of red-dripping evil,
Exited her body while she shook unstable,
Blank, his face, held no emotion,
But to this malice, he held devotion,
He had hoped this unholy retribution
Would spare his tears and be solution,
Alas, he was wrong, nothing was solved,
His children were still dead, rotting, embalmed,
Some nights he could hear his children calling,
He then took his life.
And The Rain Kept Falling.
-
This endless, boundless, ocean of rain,
The mist it created, like blood and feigned,
The recreation of hope and joy,
Rather, it only increased in ploy,
It never ended and still rains today,
Think of this while you laugh and play,
We live for no reason and surely die,
You will never leave alive,
For reasons unsure, we keep on stalling,
And ignore the fact
That The Rain Keeps Falling.

Could I provide a stolen glance,
That would glisten off my heart,
At where I would see you in a trance,
At where my mind could fall apart.
-
You being a catalyst to the fire,
The arsonist behind my demise,
The smoke takes my thoughts ever higher,
And the flutter in my chest does rise.
-
I see you in dreamlands wandering solemn,
Betwixt a lake and a great etched stone,
You look of tales told to the fallen,
And I wonder why you are there alone.
-
Echoes of the marvelous melody,
Worth dying for so many times over,
Reverberate in the cavity,
That my chest does now dwell and cover.
-
There is nothing left of this place,
You've forgotten everything in me,
But for you my endless mind still does chase,
I wish for what could be.
-
I seek no complaint, rather I should say,
That everything may be as well as it lay
Ambiguous love and hopes in the day,
Will shatter against the stones of the bay.

Whispers are voices of solemn eyes,
They express the deepest thoughts,
Whether to onself or to another,
They express everything we are inside.
Whispers are what we feel within,
They are malicious, alarming, and suicide,
Also, they hold want, desire, and dreams,
And especially what lies therein.
Whispers themselves are secrets
Told in confidence to none,
Secrets are a paradox,
For their label, a helix of lies.
To whisper a love is to hope they hear,
However it may be heard,
Through grapevine or messenger,
Or a mutual friend’s word to steer.
To whisper your hate under muttered breath
Is to wish upon malevolence
To find the target yet soon,
And to finally quell your stifled chest.
To whisper of sadness
Is the vain thought of peace,
The endless cycle of solipsism,
Until your life does cease.

I find questions to the answers damning;
They quote the darkest volumes,
And speak in whispered tones
That haunt my mind with lemmings.
Thrilling chills reverberate
Throughout my spine, intoxicating
The superfluous influx of aeon.
In Elysium I await.
Forgotten songbirds’ melodies
Are ripe within their own stages,
However, the message behind their incantations,
Mocks the frigid winds of change.
Apologetic reverences deny the peaceful hum
Of every ***** and flute of desire
And of all the lyres to be strummed.
Stumbling upon a corpse of old,
Necrosis doth eat away,
Putridity and phobia have at last been lead astray,
Maggots upon maggots, an **** of disease,
Now struggle for control here,
In the epitome of our dying age.
The eyes that once saw hope,
And the heart that once felt love,
Our absentee in place of rot,
And are swapped with rustic carrion.
The dismal breeze that flow
Swiftly under the crest of raven-wing,
Solidify bones as well as the toxins that
Cryptically burn and sting.
A creation of mass panic, euphoria
Are bound to allow riot’s treason,
A repentance of nostalgia
For uncountable reasons.
Alas, we have but come close enough to success,
To amount in a drowning of failure,
To kiss the shores of dreams come true,
And to be denied of those dreams’ savior.

A newborn, awaiting, decrepit, and rotting,
His mother waits for him to stir,
Her eyes emotionless and defensive,
Her dismal namesake will not return.
-
She gazes at his chest, hoping that his breast
Would return to a timelike rythm,
Alas, he is dead, putrified in his bed,
Arms outstretched to a broken woman.
She quietly gasps and inhales sobs,
While her tiny one stares at nothing,
Exhuming her fear of each and every tear,
She desperately clings on to something.
-
She could not stop this folly,
This tragedy entombed in holly.
The umbilical noose, too tight
She held on too strong,
He tried to fight along,
Unknowingly suffocating in her embrace, slight.
After his movement was stifled,
She peered over to the rifle,
That sat to protect the two of them,
She thought and was consumed,
With visions of Hell, and torture too,
She chanced it with an undying stem.
-
To paint a scene in words,
To describe the horror heard,
By no one when no one was there…
What is the magnitude of ******?
What lines are crossed to massacre?
And foretelling the wise ones fair.
-
In the end she sat in a rocking-bend,
The chair that carried him off to sleep,
He now lay in his cradle with sodden eyes,
Weary of counting so many sheep.
She had the sawn-off in her right hand,
The wall behind her, a portrait of her brains,
Half her face bereft of her body,
The white walls now hold crimson stains.
The infant’s hand lay through the gate,
As if even in death telling his mother “don’t do it”
The insignificant ominous one
Had lead her then right to it.
Her mouth agape, and jaw five feet from her,
Her right eye rolled back in the skull,
The blue baby seemed to look on in dead horror,
As his body witnessed in full.
The shotgun blast so strong and centered,
The power rocked her chair back and forth,
This creaking moan was all to be heard,
In this silent room forevermore.

Requiem, requiring writ of my chances,
I found I lost what I could have had,
She whispered sweet nothings and spied glances
That told me more than her soft words ever could,
And in that moment of realization,
My longing heart further broke and fractured.
Close as we could be, and still so far,
As cliche as it may be enacted.
The solemn silence of my triumphs,
The deafening screams of my failures,
None of this had mattered,
Because in that moment, all was perfect to me.
She walked to the music of the swansong,
With such beauty, and candor, and grace,
Her name painted on my whispering lips,
I still remember her angelic face.
I'm in love with an absentee,
And what's more, she knows all I know,
We sit as if Romeo hadn't called,
And he and Juliet just thought of what could've been.
If she were to tell me to wait,
I would until my bones shone through,
For even that is my happiness,
To recieve her love anew.