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5.4k · Jan 2013
Caring.
Willst thou grant me

status of thine nightmare?

And willst thou endeavor

to afford me your care?

-

The longing doth grow aside

The heartache that turns my insides

It never leaves, it never will

I dream of dreams of caressing thou still.

-

Bereft of thine love, mine light so dear,

Soothing laughter of thine smile so clear,

A chamber so cold at night, I die,

Of thou to me next, I fantasize.

-

Thine eyes that gaze into me still,

The photographs still break mine will,

How the sapphires through mine own burn,

How they now are ever stern.

-

Corrupt am I, who’d let it all decay

For the pair of us to run away,

Though mine head may be atop clouds high,

It is all for thou, mine starlit sky.
4.5k · Aug 2013
Andrew Philip Marheine.
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.
4.4k · Jan 2013
Cherry Blossom.
The petal falls free

The tree has lost a lone child

With this, Winter comes.
4.0k · Mar 2013
For R.M.
For what I know, which is not much,
I know not of what you feel and such,
But if I could be better a brother,
I would ask what makes you shudder,
I know not what causes your pain,
But I know you’ll not be here again,
So in this life, be strong, be strong,
And although I can not carry along,
What I wish I could, I’m not that good,
At expressing all that of which I should,
Know that my love extends to you,
And your indescribable heart imbued,
Keep it between us, I know what it is,
To cause yourself pain, and taste your own tears,
I wish life was easy, alas, it is not,
Lose not yourself, don’t let be forgot,
The life you know, I pray you don't,
I had no idea, of pain you smote,
To it cast out all of the remorse,
And if need, come to me, if no other doors,
Reopen for you although they should,
If need of favor, know that I would,
As brother, as friend, be there until,
Your happy, long life, end fulfilled,
I wish to be an uncle, and brother in law,
To a great man you deserve and more,
Lest it not be pain from a boy,
You are but young, they’ll use you like toys,
Be strong, be strong, our family is love,
Spread your wings, magnificent dove.
4.0k · Jan 2013
The Well Was Poisoned.
There was a town beyond the woods,
Ne’er there any water stood,
Alas, a Well, of the purest kind,
The aquifer under, is here described,
Beyond a thousand gallons under
The diamond-esque rubble and sunder.
But one bucket, at but one time,
Kind, the town, taking turns of rhyme,
This essence, used to bathe and cook,
To drink, to create, a cozy nook.
-
The happy town, the gorgeous shire,
The crops grown there as green as Ire,
No law exists, they live but civilly,
A fetching, quiet community,
But always there exists a one,
Who would want power, want this undone,
So it was said regretfully,
Poisoned their Well, emotionless he.
-
Now this village was quite secluded,
No one not there born, ne’er intruded,
Deep in the forest, behind a mountain,
Over a peak, under a cloudy curtain,
It existed in secret and abolition,
And one did seek its demolition,
Knowing the only flaw to here exist,
The essence of life, no man resists.
-
He crept at night, while the guard did sleep,
Promising the pure water to weep,
Dropping the genocide with bucket and crane,
Releasing its Demonic Alchemic Strain,
The Well did hiss as the poison moaned,
Recoiling at this unwanted drone,
The assailant then brought to his steady lips,
A cup and was first to take Devil’s Kiss.
-
On the morrow of the mentioned crime,
Busy bodies awoke to start the day’s time,
Queuing at bucket and awaiting turns,
Each family there a portion yearned,
Not one did from the water strafe,
Each then bathed, then drank, unsafe,
No one could tell different taste,
Water is water, but not today.
-
The plague did start like any disease,
Sore throat, fever, stopped nose, displeased,
The people sought the witchdoctor,
But he from bed, would rise no longer,
He caught ill too, and wouldn’t budge,
Afraid for his life, afraid of this grudge,
He knew this sickness, had heard before,
But told no one, the end was sure.
-
In a week, vomiting and nausea,
Nasal passages sealed, no nostalgia
Brought to memory of any like sickness,
The virus brought about decrepit afflictions,
But slowly and steady, worse and worse,
The people became, some saw the course
But kept silent, to avoid alerting,
The so many children in need of comforting.
-
In two weeks’ time, the pathogen,
Had taken wits of sensible men,
At night, they screamed in somber fright,
Their deepest fears, real now, and bright,
The lutes died out, the bards not singing,
An unfortunate time, but this was only beginning.
-
Fingernails rotting off at the cuticle,
Too much blood for any receptacle,
Leprositic, the fingers came next,
One by one, extremities hexed,
Children lost their legs to run,
From mothers’ faces rotted, undone,
In every other step, heard were bones breaking,
Kneecaps cracked open, shins splintering,
Eyes turned cadaverous, awake, but not seeing,
Cataracts formed, blinded from viral being,
In cradles were witnessed toddlers there suffering,
Their mothers watched with empty sockets, but listening
To the cries impossible to stifle,
The pain too much for these tiny disciples.
The dogs normally to their masters zealous,
Became of them mortally jealous.
They bit the hands that fed them well,
For watering them from the cryptic Well.
Men watched their sons dive right under,
The bridge that harnessed a valley of blunder
Hundreds of feet above sharp rocks and stumps,
Their namesakes leaped, impaled in clumps,
For those lucky enough to still have eyes,
Cried tears of acid for images despised
Sickness was spewed upon the walls,
Entrails adorned the Gathering Halls,
Some had turned to mutilation,
Blood-letting for some, abomination,
Some crazed enough to “cure” themselves,
Clawed throat and stomach til flesh dissolved,
Some rich with elixir tried to embezzle,
Upon some of the poor, tired and grizzled,
Riot broke out amongst the walking dead
Fortune or lack of, irrelevant,
Black pustules broke out that looked Bubonic,
But the cure for that failed, how ironic,
That it rather hastened the steadfast curse,
Faster than iambic verse,
Molecules turned to embryo,
Rising like a great Pharaoh,
They became flesh parasites,
Taking internal organs, slow and precise,
They started with the liver and spleen,
So there lasted hours of wretched screams,
The intestines of some would close and then
Becoming septic, they passed, bile in stem,
A few had throats seeming cauterized,
Friends watched friends closest, strangle alive,
There were in fact, some optimists,
Among them, talk of being “rid of this”,
They too died while clutching life,
Endeavoring their eternal flight,
From noses, there dripped blackened murk,
Thicker than combined oil and dirt,
It then secreted as sweat from all pores,
Fatigue then struck those left to the floor.
Upon broken knees some prayed,
Usually the skin under ribs was flayed,
Trying to understand what went wrong,
Dissecting the dead was not headstrong,
It only furthered viral progression,
The open corpses breathing infection,
The cadavers would move still, the fleshbugs active,
The horror of lifeless movement, corrosive,
The minds of the weak, it pure happenstance,
One found eating dead flesh for a cure, no chance.
All in all, this lingering curiosity,
Provided once good people with animosity,
One man turned good people to hate,
Their neighbors in ways that were irate.
-
The chaos was not anarchy,
For, as I said,
It was civilly,
But verily, I do decree,
That no one knew such misery,
The inhabitants of this village,
Did not suspect innocent visage,
Or perhaps, their cherished Well.
To be culprit behind this hell
So they drank and drank to remedy,
To recompense this malady,
To no avail did blood get thicker,
Alas, they got but sicker and sicker.
-
This hell, the townsfolk then realized,
Wouldn’t end til they all were nullified,
Eliminated they were, eradicated at that,
This pathogenic virus had verily spat
In the faces of the people here,
Decimated they were, not quenching their fear,
Murdered they were by a systematic
Suicidal psychopathic,
Inflamed in the mind of darkness thereafter,
Only satisfied by his own laughter.
Not many, til now, know of this town,
From lowly peasant, to “Godly” Crown.
An explorer found the deserted hamlet,
Body parts and questions then found the hermit,
He had heard of a town like this, he wrote:
“It was a new age Roanoke…”
But the village, not a town to cause commotion,
All that was left of them, a tree scratched, “CROATOAN”.
If Daedalus built us a labyrinth

Of chambers with beds, and smells of mint,

I’d never try to leave or escape,

I’d stay with you, it be our fate.

-

Your enticing scented perfume,

Catches my nostrils as I gaze at you,

You glance back, seductive and robed,

Your shoulders revealed, the rest unknown,

Until a slight twitch adorns the floor,

With the garb you wore before,

Your lingerie lingers there now,

Across your backside and ***** endowed,

Your back is still there turned to me,

Morals become my enemy.

-

I walk slowly, creep behind,

I take your hips and you take mine,

I feel your nails dig in my sides,

Pain is not to be belied,

Turned around now, look at me,

In my eyes, what do you see?

Feel my hand gently stroke

That precious cheek of yours to stoke,

The fire that internally burns,

Inside ourselves, the passion churns,

My hand softly grasps your throat,

Your pupils widen, you are smote,

A short gasp, an inhale of breath,

I adore seeing your heaving chest,

Surprised, aroused, you grab my hair,

We break something beside us,

I don’t care, we don’t care.

-

Your *** in my hands, your legs wrapped around,

I put you on a table, throw you down,

You smile and bite your lip and look up,

Joyous repetitions of “****, oh ****”,

You bite my collar bone and shoulder,

I think “Oh, how I love to explore her”,

Pandora’s Box knows nothing of this,

I feel, as I hold down your hands with clenched fists.

-

To the chamber that promises silken sheets,

You and I alone, who needs “discreet”?

Sensual moans from my Aphrodite,

You call me Ares, and quiver slightly,

We've now become quite volatile,

You feel no need to hide your guile,

You bury my face a midst your chest,

Smiling lightly, pointing to your crest,

I serve you well,

As far as listening can tell,

You happily return the favor,

This moment in my mind, I’ll savor,

A fallen angel is angel nonetheless,

You look up and I must confess,

The sight of it, so great to behold,

That I stand you up, and around, and fold

You across the bedside chair,

Alas, the pleasure doth find you there.

I am yours and you are mine,

Behind our door records no time.

-

When I bend to receive a kiss,

Ah, the touch of your perfect lips,

Your taste, it’s addictive to say the least,

I cannot stop, your tongue can’t cease,

Then you recoil and I silently beg,

You then submit, and tighten your legs,

I kiss your neck, hear a deep breath in my ear,

You have the power of my mind to steer,

Your hands and nails find my back,

And then, in ecstasy, you attack.

What must be hours go by and then,

I feel from inside, your body tightens,

We are both together this moment,

There is a small flood after the levee’s exploded,

You lean back, dragging nails, and scream,

Heavy exhales as if we were breathing steam,

You lay atop, beautiful and breathless,

After all, we are quite reckless,

Feeding on our insatiability,

We lay here kissing awaiting re-ability,

We are lost in each other’s flesh,

And mind, and heart, and we both have fetched

A longing lust that took command,

Without daring reprimand.

-

This is Adam and Eve’s paradise,

Without The Apple, it will suffice,

This night feels as if it will never end,

We take each other again and again.
2.9k · Jul 2013
Fornever Ago.
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.
2.3k · Nov 2013
Disgusting.
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.
2.1k · May 2013
The Crossroad.
Upon a path of trepidation
Walked I along with hesitation
I trudged forth in contemplation,
Remarking on my indignation.
I felt as though the road would end,
Each step came forth again and again.
To pass the time, I counted sins,
Not religious exactly, just decision’s wind,
I thought of my own life, and how much change
Had plagued my mind and my own cage,
The prison in my head that I live through,
Even though there’s worse that I could do,
I closed that link before I could
Think of things I knew I should,
I “forgot” them throughout the years,
To push away all of my own fears,
With that then settled
The road I reveled.
I noticed the dust on this forgotten trail,
Each step disheveled the dirt so stale,
I noticed I hadn’t been the only one
To walk this trail and be undone,
But I was however the first in a while,
The steps i left behind me were straight and filed.
-
Withered whispering romance had wilted away
A faceless me, within I decayed,
The road was vast and all omniscient,
The weather indeed was quite consistent,
Muggy, dreary, a hint of mist,
Melancholy so, that I wished to be ******,
I would have loved to be drunk again
As I had been so before like many men,
To take upon this journey but straight,
Would have felt like bringing train and freight,
It is important to realize
That I was alone and not in guise,
For to find myself, I was myself,
There was only I to seek for help.
-
about three days had passed along,
Wondering if I was even strong
Enough to find the cross in road
To decide which way that I should go,
When in sudden surprise there came,
The cross in road appeared to exclaim,
I could go straight, left or right,
As one would think it might,
But each direction had their own feel,
So much so, I thought it may not be real,
I gazed at each about an hour,
And witnessed their foretelling in my head as they showered.
-
The road ahead was static and unchanging
I found myself to be salivating,
Nervous, the feeling crept on through me,
The sensation of the same emotions, unruling.
I thought of the looming possibility,
That to change anything was not in my ability,
That I would be forced by past to walk this path,
Straight on and forward in a droning, mindless trance.
This startled me and I quickly thought
That I had best my chance be wrought,
Left or right, like straight, I felt both,
Like a voice somewhere inside bequothe,
“Lest ye not choose wrong dear boy,
Or you, I fear, will die empty in ploy.”
Chanting choruses of Gregorian nature
Repeated that stanza in mocking stature,
The repetition to the point of depravity,
I digressed, I became my insanity.
2.1k · Jan 2013
I Thought I Saw You Today.
Peering out the window,

I thought I saw you weeping

I thought, my mind in limbo,

That I glanced you dreaming.

-

It was as if you were right there,

Standing shaking in the rain,

Water off your short hair,

Your frown reflecting pain.

-

I thought I saw you standing

Beyond the trees out back,

I am not quite understanding,

Why still your sight attacks,

-

The nerves inside my chest,

And the bottom of my gut

Adrenaline in my breast,

And the wind wont upon my foot.

-

I could have sworn to up above

That I saw you beckoning,

The water, showing what once loved,

Into somehow in front appearing.

-

You saw me looking towards you

I tried to hide my face,

You tried to hide your smile too

I glimpsed it in your gaze

-

I know I didn’t dream this today

I thought I saw you, truthfully,

It was not longing in that way,

I was just caught off guard, you see.

-

Perhaps you may have seen me too

At one point or another,

Walking the streets that we used to

Or just holding each other,

-

But honestly I do not long

Verily I do not pine,

Although it would be nice in song,

I know you don’t feel at all fine,

-

I know I must make you sick,

I know I must make you weep

Which is why today your image yet sticks,

And your broken smile doth creep.

-

Which is why today I wondered

Wherefore you even passed me by,

Fictional in my mind of blunder,

And too afraid to question “why?”

-

Why then did I even witness you,

Walking across my path,

I spied you from my bedroom,

At quickened pace so fast?

Then you stopped all of the sudden,

To give my window fair gaze,

You must have seen my face be sullen,

And given yourself great praise.

-

Although, I know you think of what could be,

And maybe not being happy,

But if I could ever wish it clear,

Perhaps I would wish you be here,

But then again perhaps I not,

And first dive headfirst into cot,

And see I don’t just wake up again,

And find out of window, you are pretend.
Always remember;

Those who dwell

In stone houses

Should not throw glass.

It'll cut your feet,

You'll bleed on the cheese.

But again, Blood Cheese

Is a delicacy among us normal ones.

-

Now I have somethin'

A little somethin'

A cynic feelin'

And quite revealin'

About me stance,

And about me dance,

And skippin' the days' rope,

With the entrails of a dope,

Perhaps not that last,

That's far too passed,

Casual conversin'

And time's birds be chirppin'

So you'll sit and wonder,

Of things and blunder.

-

Ya think you're free but lemme

Speak of that bein' ill advised;

Ya sit there shocked

At a world provoked,

Well this is my world, revised.

-

They tried to match an army equivalent to mine,

They tried, they tried,

Admirable and amiable,

I hate when masses gather against me.

Their intestines and other assorted guts

Adorned my dining table and sweetroll plates.

-

The Greymarch couldn't have happened at an odder time,

Inconvenience is madness rhyme,

Therefore I purchased a hero of suspicious sanity,

Unfortunately though, he turned to depravity.

Me servant stood and told him what,

To do and there and when and such,

Sheoth has seen some better days,

Although it hasn't yet seen worsened days...

-

Brilliance of Pelagius himself,

That awful Breton ****** himself,.

Although the conversin' was enthrallin'

To say the least,

To rise up once and flay the beast,

Me Wabbajack corrected all the physicality.

-

Doin' the best on behalf of a master,

But not doin' the most he could endeavor,

It don't befront what he could affront,

The contradictions

Of his existence

Were at the very least concernin'.

-

Correct me if I'm wrong,

But I wouldn't advise it.

A hero could always do better,

Always,

Unless he couldn't,

Unless he dies. then another

To replace em'

These things tend to happen when

The entanglements come along.

-

Whether it be better to

Affront under certain weather,

Has nether to be seen on this endeavor,

But forever will be never unseen,

And clever.

-

Forgive them with revenge, for

It has yet to be determined in

Their extermination for the wrath of

Passed sensation, pray blocks their

Affiliation to Jyggalag and affirmation

Of recreation in Order, and abomination.

-

Hear me with your mortal deaf ears,

Pray tell, how have you got lizards and not gizzards?

It seems undauntin' that you may have hauntin'

Dreams of His return but not of the others?

-

You must wait on your own cheese,

For cheese be earned not given,

Unless given after earned,

But earned is the important part.

-

You're livin' in a glorious world of hellish rules,

The damnable expectation of sanity come freedom,

Though, I am the freest bein' who I be,

Demented Mania be the only way to go,

The only road,

Unless there be another in the way,

For if you know where you're goin',

There's no point in goin'.
1.9k · Apr 2013
Aggression.
Tell me that I am wrong:
Lie and say the pain will go away
And that the depression will subside,
And further, that there is belief behind my cries,
That my aggression might one day not be my life,
In a world so ridiculously fake,
That I must lie in bed at night awake.
-
Love Does Not Exist.
It is only disgusting lust that does persist.
Romantic Wishes And Dreams Are All Dead.
Rotting in the abyss, shot in head,
Put to pasture and lead astray,
Suffocated with barbwire, its heart decayed.
-
Intimacy With Your "Other Half" Is False.
But we persist and try to find anyone with a pulse.
You Will Never Find Your Revolting "Soul Mate",
A false concept made by those scared of their own fate.
-
You Will Die Alone And Scared.
We search and find anyone and are content,
To live with each other in misery until it ends,
Then remember why we "loved" them to begin,
And cry ourselves to sleep again and again,
Until across there runs another coquette,
And the tears evaporate, so **** it,
We are such God ****** hypocrites,
We say we know "love", I'm Sick Of It.
We forget as soon as we lay
With another the next day,
The person left before,
Nameless and no more adored,
We Need A Plague, An Extermination,
Of This Sickness, My Generation.
1.8k · Jun 2013
A Stalking Scent.
A wandering woman passed me today
And she was wearing your perfume,
Memories flooded my mind
Like a broken decrepit levee.
My emotion was withering away,
And I remembered our lit room,
The laughing and laying without time,
And then my heart grew heavy.
-
Blackened and purged,
You left traceless and a ghost,
A spectre that forsakes the shadows,
I see you when I needn't most.
Your darkened trails
That linger in the frigid mist
Remain spectral and withered,
Waning like the wind, so brisk.
The scent followed me home,
And here I now can't stay,
For pride and self loathing
Have caused all this decay.
I must bring about a solution
For this to be forgotten,
I must hope to breathe a new perfume,
And for happy life to be lost in.
I once caught a gaze that you deemed to spare me,
Your eyes were Andromeda, your hands adored me,
I believe you fell for my sardonic wit and charm,
And knowing my heart would do you no harm.
I was lead to your chamber and then,
It was as if I'd entered Heaven.
-
I smelled the rain from outside your window,
The petrichor and your graceful perfume,
Drunk with lust I stepped forward,
Hoping you were ready to be adored.
You stopped me and sat me down
On a cushion, then kissed my crown,
Then you backpaced with a viscious smile,
And danced for me and all the while,
I couldn't resist you, I didn't try,
If I layed you down, I wouldnt let you just lie.
-
Twisting to your intoxicating tune,
I couldn't but stare and watch you move,
Piece by piece, you shed your coverings,
And second by second, plucked at my heartstrings.
You stalked forward, my heartrythm cracked,
Sitting in my lap now, hands on my back,
It was so vivid, so real, so adorabley twisted,
The creatures in us, to feel, to visit.
-
Your scented bodice enticed me still,
Your lips were parted, nostrils flared as well,
Your eyebrows were arched and quite intrigued,
Your eyes showed me everything you wanted to see.
Avast, alas, a glimpse of the past
You move my hands to your chest and as
I grasp gently your hands go down,
They reach for what you need endowed,
Your fingers then trace the ink marks on my chest,
And then lay on my left side to feel beating breast,
Eyes, they're alive, they cast aside,
You then embark upon a wild ride,
My shirt you lift, my belt undone,
You bite my neck for the sake of fun,
I caress your ribs, your perfect skin,
I am the epitome of sin.
-
You turn around and tease me now,
Back arched and leaned against my chest, and how
You move so delicately and with all vehemence,
I want to know your passionate violence.
-
"To bed then my dear",
I hear you say,
"My darling, it would then make my day",
Your hand on my chest, mine around your neck,
You mount atop and in all bedecked,
In sulfurous longing, and hiding a biting lip,
You take me for a sensuous trip.
Arise, dear goddess, I know not this love,
It's new to me and all above,
Every ****** a moan,
And silence from  I,
I try so hard to please,
I love your breath and rolling eyes.
Faster rotations and deeper depths,
And then you seek to give punishment,
To a crawl you stop, slow and so shallow,
You are the siren that shall be hallowed,
Intensity and pleasurable frustrations,
But with a coy smile you spare me lustful aggrevations,
You return so slowly to increased mach,
In ecstasy, my thoughts all to you flock,
Nothing appeals like the words you speak,
Amidst a room so vastly bleak,
In my ear you gently ******,
The thoughts become real with no protest,
My, oh my, the night goes by,
And time lost is gained with you and I,
Never and forever hold no ground here,
I make you quake, I want to hear,
Hear the longings within yourself,
As I unleash all of your hells,
Faster and harder it comes to fruition,
Taking eachother until submission.
1.7k · Jan 2013
Misery.
Tribulations and my afflictions are misery

This cryptic, ironic, depiction is misery.

-

The warmth of the sanguine is never in me

The cold cells of mine are dead, are misery.

-

What would it take to ever **** me?

Perhaps, if only one thing, misery.

-

What is a sickness without remedy?

It is a malignant growth of misery.

-

Verification of my friend, my enemy,

Certainly my brother, my nemesis misery.

-

Confidence is precedence in my virility,

Verily infecting, lacerating misery.

-

I, Andrew, deny that ever woe could have been me,

Although I surrender, I succumb to misery.
1.7k · Jan 2013
Ghosts Of My Deaths Passed.
It was a starry night,

I remember the moon was bright.

As I sat in my canopied room

Atop the inn of gloom,

Its musty stench of walls and flesh,

Surrounded by dim light and floors below, strewn

-

At first I was anxious and nervous

About the spectre’s appearance

But something in his presence was calming

Curious as it was, I was longing.

-

He was not ghostly in the way you would think

He was as real looking, enough to drink,

Though it was something in his air and aura

That told me his demise like Gomorrah,

And how he was perished and dead,

And with these rotting words he said

-

“Gaze upon me and listen well,

For your silence I wish you not quell,

My words you will not stir,

You will absorb and then, good sir,

I will reappear as those who’ve been

You yourself and died again,

You are the last and only one,

Upon earth to know this secret done,

You will understand this true confusion

And soon be rid of your delusion.

But I warn there is a painful price,

In cherished aforementioned gift so nice

Of that you will find soon

And your burning soul will croon.

-

My name is High Lord Kellik,

And my touch you’ve already met.

You’ve felt me here before,

I walk with you, ancestor, but more.

I am the first of you in this lone world,

I suffered what once was unfurled.

-

Now know our cryptic secret revealed

Of the same bloodline congealed:

To all of us who are one,

This life is not your only one.

-

I’ve risen again from fallen,

I was in Jerusalem

When my Lord he calleth,

God chose not to follow them.

I was of the Tuetonics,

Though my death was quite ironic,

For they had me drawn for heresy

And quartered for allegedly

Stealing an Arab’s maidenhead

Even though my wife was pregnant then,”

(At this sentence, twas there I noticed,

The chainmail and a cross of lotus,

Betwixt his breast and penance

He seemed holy, even justice.)

“I loved my wife from first gaze through labor,

Twas the last I saw of her, I savored

The love in her eyes when I lost her.

All I wanted was to adore her.

They led me into ‘court’ they said,

Twas to be my own deathbed,

And when they called out all my sins,

Of course I denied, being pious within,

Although my truth they would not have,

I again suffered my brother’s terrible wrath.”

-

I spoke my first words, shaking, unstable,

Asking questions gated in stables,

“Sir, I know my silence is needed,

But I request some answers conceded,

Why did they not trust your pure enough claims,

Brothers, as you said, seeking no gain?”

-

Spake he “I understand your logic,

Twas mine although my brothers were stoic,

You see, it is the terrible price

That I spoke earlier, a wretched vice,

To know the things that we will tell,

You must know the darkest hell,

You must know that you will die

A most gruesome death without comply,

Because we are one, it must happen and then,

You’re born the same, to die again.”

-

I sat silent for a moment and pondered,

I thought of a tree that aimlessly wonders,

About its life serving no purpose,

To grow leaves and die, its only service,

It seemed of me, so pessimistic

To know this life is quite solipsistic.

-

He continued,

-

“Know that I had the easiest death,

The first brother-blade did pierce my chest,

It struck my heart, and I must make amends,

That is why none of us will find love again.

-

I was of the knights most valiant,

My fervor was the most resilient,

Whatever we may ever be,

It is irrelevant, you’ll die like me.”

-

Shocked, I sat in euilibrium,

You’d think it peaceful

But my world was undone,

It forever changed that starry night,

And was only the beginning of my hellish fright.

-

Lord Kellik departed there through my door,

I heard no steps upon the floor,

I thought it odd for plate boots to make,

No sounds on oaken plates of estate…

-

Soon my door was reopened again,

I looked up and gazed at him,

At me, twas now I started to see,

Resemblance in us, for no helmet he wore,

But rather a coat of a Hessian he bore,

He masked the same look I see on myself,

When I’ve been through darkness, my own hell,

The blue eyes like mine, were mine, and hair,

Dark brown, and had a piercing stare,

German accent had he upon conversing,

“Wie gehts? Ich heisse Kryztoff von Gersching,”

“Hallo Kryztoff, mein namme ist Andrew Marheine.”

-

“There is great hate between two factions,

Two worlds, once one, under taken action,

The English came and fought and tried,

The way Americans denied

The rights of those that were first here,

I was hired to broaden their fear.”

-

Surprised at his English,

I also switched,

“Sir, I noticed that your neck is stitched…?”

-

“A wound from battle, the only lucky

Thing that ever happened to me,

But knowing what I do know now,

I would pick severed jugular to doubt.

My unit was captured by a group of guerrilla yanks,

They slaughtered us each unless we joined their ranks,

In this massacre there was no honor,

In sending home bodies, lost sons and fathers,

I steadily refused to be a part,

So they began tearing me apart

Until they then realized

I would gladly be crucified,

That just for that, that I despised,

Each one of them for their “freedom” lies,

Their General King, although respected,

Washington should not have defected.

You see now where democracy has led,

The better off, are the lucky dead.

I see you ask of what I died?

Of what brought about a Hessian’s demise?

The gutless ******* shot me with small cannon

Direct in my stomach, you cannot fathom,

The amount of pain in three long hours…

I wished for death, but not from cowards.”

-

He was proud looking, but not Narcissus,

Battle worn, and quite seditious.

I noticed his sword, the handle notched,

For every inch of life he’d squashed

Like a child’s boot to an ant hill.

This man died alone and still.

-

He spoke once more

-

“You have been blessed with knowledge and wrought,

You though will be turned to naught,

The pain you’ll be in, too much to endure,

Your arteries pumping blood to the floor,

We know not how you will die,

But painful be it, no chance to survive.

Because, like us, you have no one here,

Like us, not missed, no tragic dear,

Your name be forgotten until

The next of us lives to see us fill.”

-

He exited without another word,

I found it quaint, unlike the herd,

I strove to be different, I suspect I’ve succeeded,

After all, who knew their death, and believed it?

-

Wondering if I would again be visited

Or if my passed lives were but two limited,

I also thought of how they appeared…

I could not recall how the first had veered,

Or why they ventured to me and told

Me of their stories that would make hearts cold

Stuck with this thought, another come forth,

From my wooden frame of door,

His brilliant armor, black with silver,

Across his back, a sheathe and quiver,

He looked at me, and I again saw myself,

And again saw another me been felled,

“Hello,” I said “won’t you come in?”

“Obliged,” spake he “see what lies therein.

-

He began,

-

“Young man, you know not missing your home,

But I come from the brightest years of Rome,

Although I knew only Coliseum

I hoped my soul be with Ellysium,

I was a slave in the rich man’s bloodsport,

And the crowd, they cheered for more and more,

To live every day knowing you must fight,

Can bring great depression to one’s very life,

Caesar said I could in time be free,

I fell my last fight, suffering,

The anguish that flowed through me at then,

Was not of physical harm, but when,

My bowels were visible on the ground,

All I could feel was loss never found,

I swore allegiance to men never met,

And all it brought was discontent.

Never think twice about an act,

It could save your life until this pact,

Although you will die, nameless forever,

Know that even the smallest endeavor,

Will not change this predestination,

This marvelous melancholy is Hades’ invention,

We will not wake until we’ve slept,

The eternal slumber, and mourner’s have wept,

About a loss that is so profound,

Until they forget why the feelings endowed,

Are the enemy to their own happiness,

They then know not of what ‘revolting’ is.”

-

This nameless man stood up and gazed,

Outside of my withered window pane,

His eyes lightened and looked ever broken,

And I could see a man who’s life and freedom were stolen,

If ever I had wanted to cry in confrontation

It would’ve been at his lamentation,

But I bit my tongue and held back from that,

Although he noticed with eyes like a cat,

He smiled at me, I smiled at me,

And it was then that he began to proceed,

Out of my door, and out of my eyes,

I thought about my ending surprise.

I now knew death was not to be,

An old man while I was in my sleep,

But rather a darker, gruesome end,

Perhaps lacerations from within,

And as this trickled across my brain,

I could swear to God I went insane,

I sat in my room for weeks despaired,

Tasting nothing except the stale air,

and then one day it finally clicked,

That life is what it is, a foul ******* trick.
Dark, Melancholy, Macabre
1.6k · Mar 2013
She Died In My Arms.
This night I cradled you to sleep
In my arms, you began to weep,
How could I know this was your last night,
On this earth, of this life
-
Tonight I’ve witnessed disaster,
Her longing heart beat ever faster,
Not knowing who I was to her,
I slept softly beside her,
-
I awoke to darkness, and warmth beside me,
Her body cold, the sheets bleeding,
A razor, tucked in her veins,
Her vacant eyes bore depraved
Lines within her gorgeous face,
In her tears there was no trace,
Of heartache, of nothing but peace,
Alas there was turmoil in her face, creased
-
Tonight I’ve witnessed disaster,
Her longing heart beat ever faster,
Not knowing who I was to her,
I slept softly beside her,
-
I lay beside my deceased love,
Like a rat with wings, a diseased dove,
Spreading sickness, depression,
Love is only submission,
-
She gazed in to my emotionless eyes
I had nothing left but despite
The revolting feeling of loss,
I held her beside me until my heart stopped,
It took days, weeks at that,
Skipping sup and water.
Sticking with but ***** and bourbon,
I drank myself in to oblivion,
Somber silence and muffled screams,
Her eyes never closed, though I tried, and it seems
That love is ideology of long ago,
An unkempt burden of tomorrow,
-
Tonight I’ve witnessed disaster,
Her longing heart beat ever faster,
Not knowing who I was to her,
I slept soundly beside her,
-
And finally on my last night
On this earth, of this life,
I held her frigid body to me,
Cradling loss and tragedy
Though she herself never caused misery,
I couldn't wait for death to claim me,
And although she left without goodbye,
I know she feared to ruin our night.
I never knew what question ailed her,
On the morrow I had planned to ask her,
If she would have me then,
I’d be lucky of all men,
To see her dressed in white,
To love her as my wife,
She slipped away within herself,
She drowned in waters of her own hell.
And as my heart stopped beating, alas,
Her eyes closed, and a smile my lips passed.
1.5k · May 2013
The Wood.
Alas, awakened to the glorious smell
Of grieving petrichor and lichen
Intoxicating scents of spells,
Has left my thoughts forsaken.
Aggrieved, unclean,
I wash myself in the river,
Alone again, once with my mind,
The cold water does bring a quiver.
Rushing gently across its bend,
Its current does drag along
A heartache inside a massive depth,
A misery that floods it anon.
It seeks to help wash stains of past,
Blood from mistakes without thought,
Caressing my hands as I dip them in,
It cleans at the souls I’ve wrought.
I’ve brought spite to all I’ve been,
I bathe in hatred and stigmata,
Correctional growth of paradigmatic folly,
Proves equality to tumultuous fodder.
-
There has been death here,
Drowning and sickness,
Villainous nature subjugated
To corruption and bleakness.
Disparaging remarks whispered of men,
Bring to light lost life and love,
Discouraging thoughts of mine herein,
Anticlimactic and soulless above.
The trees began to whisper,
Moving slightly in the breeze,
I thought I would move quicker,
But something that couldn’t trapped me.
-
Bringing about a fallout cloud
That kept my mind thus smoked,
It is hard to cherish anything
That the water itself could soak.
-
I wanted to leave,
But I was locked in the wood,
I began to need it,
Like any Stockholm would
The treasure trove in which I was kept,
Was something of a fairy-tale
It hid monsters, death,
And only one nightingale.
Its swansong allowed me to sleep,
Gorgeous at night, it cast in weep,
A story of one so scared, The fear of bleeding out
One day upon the growing creep.
Vines and lies surrounded me,
Its whole existence was false,
Nothing could be this natural,
And the dead forest scoffed.
-
Could there be someone else here?
Doubtful, I began my search,
Through vasts I spied, time again,
But nothing upon this earth.
The forest fell in love with my heart,
Its emotions curious to her,
She tortured me with affection,
My reality was blurred.
I found my way across her floor,
Trekking miles to a never-end.,
Purgatory does not know this pain,
Hopeless abandon, fell unto myself to fend.
A trip, a fall, unique and random,
I impaled myself with a sharp cry,
A sharp palisade jutting out, I then whispered
“What if I don’t want to die?”
1.5k · Jan 2013
The Ripper.
An acolyte of White Chapel, I walk the streets at night,

I strut the dark to feed my lust, my mildly selfish plight.

Don’t mistake me for insane, my demonic thoughts are clear,

Come to me my little *****, I show you why I’m revered.

-

I walk behind, step by step,

As I stalk my little coquette

she leaves the brothel, all dressed up,

Awaiting young gentleman to sup,

I’ve chosen this one for my knife,

It calmly grins to end her life.

-

Her caller leaves with no tip to spare,

Her saddened face hidden by her hair,

I follow her back until an alley,

The hatred then shall take my lead.

-

Twenty feet there from the door,

I felt her heart drop to the floor,

As I choked the breath out of her lungs,

I saw the sadness from being so close to home.

-

Upon my shoulder, I take her back

To the venue of my attack

I sneak through the darkest paths,

Until my home, we reach at last.

-

And at this part in my confession

I warn of the graphic, due to depression.

-

Upon my medical table she lay,

My scalpel awaits the ****** flay,

A little anesthetic, here and there,

Keeps her awake but still and fair.

-

She cannot scream but her eyes do widen

Though to be fair, my form does frighten,

When I lay my other instruments out,

Of leaving alive, I see her doubt.

-

“To business then my dear, my dear.”

Out of one eye, I spy a tear.

-

Because of paralysis I need no restraints,

She remains still, her heart remains faint,

I start with the kneecaps, just in case,

She breaks free of the spell, so I needn’t chase.

-

I place them upon my “excess” table

And then her legs I begin to cradle,

I take then every one of her toes,

And place them in a neat little row.

-

I take my time stemming the blood,

So death doesn’t come misunderstood,

Also that she may not pass out,

She remains conscious and without clout.

-

“My Sweet,

I cherish the sorrow I see in you eyes,

I enshrine the abhorrence of love I’ve revised,

acrimonious am I, animosity guides me,

I’ll **** everything you’ve ever believed.”

-

I move up onto her thighs,

Upon the blade, the sanguine does shine,

I split each side to sew again,

Except the muscle taken from within.

-

I stitch her fingers there together,

I rip out the nails to put on a tether,

Her arms have no concern to me,

Lest I graze an artery.

-

And  my favourite, the chest cavity,

I’ll make it a shrine to my depravity

Now is the point where time is a factor,

As I do this, she will die faster.

-

I hammer away with the sternum-splitter,

It cracks and cracks, her heart does flutter,

I eagle the ribcage as she stares in horror,

The sound of my laughter begins to adore her.

-

Her organs gaze up at me in fright,

I begin extracting in delight,

She looks up, looks for her God,

But he is absent, he is a fraud.

-

I witness the beating grow faster,

She is in shock, this could be disaster,

A little more solution for the pain,

But just enough so that she remains.

-

I slowly take a needle and puncture the left lung

Her other grows violent when its marriage is undone,

I extract her spleen and then,

Her heart does pump, her blood thickens.

-

Involuntary muscles in her lips tighten,

I barely catch it with her lips stitched in,

Her eyes, how they wonder everywhere,

Searching for some thing somewhere.

-

I see in them, she questions me,

‘Why have you forsaken me?’

Darling, I think that is not the question

I did this of my own suggestion,

-

You may ask why I left her womanhood alone,

Her ******* and ***** no violence shown,

To that, I answer you now and simply,

Frivolous things such as *** do not concern me.

-

You may ask why and where she may be found,

But you won’t find her, though don’t let that cloud

Your idea of me or what lies inside,

Don’t worry however, I allowed her to die,

After I had taken her precious heart,

She likely could’ve lived half a minute to start,

But at about second “fifteen”,

I cut her throat ever so gently,

She gurgled so quietly, ever somber,

I’m sure she would’ve thanked me regardless,

But in the end I don’t feel I’ve robbed a father,

After all, what father has a ***** of a daughter?

-

You will never catch me, I have no motive,

Other than sport, and a mind supported,

With thoughts of these wretched street walkers,

May they all be mindful they’ve gained a stalker,

Perhaps one day you may of me learn,

A clean city and plain interest, is all I yearn.
Standing sacred amongst the dead,
A mausoleum built, protected,
It watched and witnessed the years as they passed,
It remained silent against life so vast,
A vigil reminder that the dead can be kings,
The wealth of many don’t think of such things,
Remembered in death as they were in life,
This fixture wept beyond their mortal sight.
Of broken hearts and dreamy fog,
The Mausoleum held inside, a bog.
-
I witnessed it upon the path I walked,
The dead-end, so to speak, it frightfully stalked,
It almost glowed a neutral grey sheen,
Aghast, I looked past with thoughts of being,
I emptied a heartache upon a pillar,
It reached to me and my hand now withered,
It called my name once in the silence,
The voice so hollow, in hallowed solace.
While this garden with dead did proliferate,
I opened what was once the tomb’s inner gate,
I stepped inside not knowing what came
Next for me in life’s theatrical game,
Surprised to see it held a catacomb,
I walked its halls in vain, entombed,
Cephalic attacks of thoughts herein,
Requested presence of answers therein,
Creatures and demons alarming inside,
We take the most identifying and hide,
We look to find we are the same,
In life, in presence, in thought, in vain.
-
I saw the bodies that rested yet here,
They seemed so at peace to sleep for years,
One cadaver at the end of a hall,
Seemed to beckon to me and warned of fall,
The steps leading down, treacherous at best,
I looked at it more as if it were test,
Test of strength, a test of will,
But my insanity would not keep me still,
Hidden between his skeletal palms,
Was a page ripped out of Bible, the psalms,
His favourite, I imagined, but it shook my spine,
Because he appeared so clandestine,
So surreptitious, the look upon his face,
He hid no remorse for passed mistakes
His teeth decayed like his mind did in life,
His bones festered and caused him great strife,
Were it not for the pedestal that held him up,
I wouldn’t have seen aside him a cup,
A cup full of sanguineous red,
The shuffles on the floor from where others fled,
I took his cup and drank from it well,
The taste of old blood, congealed, from Hell.
I then could not have had foretell,
That this would put me in a dreamlike cell,
I stumbled on the floor and rocked,
My thoughts of reality were then so blocked,
I couldn’t hold concept of anything,
I fell asleep and awoke in a dream.
-
The Nightmares, transgressions of the dead that lay
In this catacomb, suffered a fray,
A war between families large and askew,
The swords of fathers to sons imbued,
They bred them with hate and raised them with blood,
They fought their battles as sons best could,
One of them had their internals leave
Their stomach, and organs were bereaved,
Because of a ”friend” that with a knife,
Decided against his opposing strife,
He feigned a hug and with his fist,
Wrenched his weapon and did persist,
To tear his friend apart, depraved,
He cut out his heart and his father gave,
His son his burial rites,
The other family far from contrite,
Desecrated this mausoleum,
The battlefield turned to Coliseum,
The young fighting old and not knowing why,
The women and girls lost much and cried,
Their men would not have any of their words,
Ironic to not hear pleading songs of birds,
The families lost while being forewarned,
Both now lie entombed, both thought of as scourge,
The mischievous gaze the skeleton gave,
I now understood, I thought I was insane,
Even in Hell, he battles them still,
I learned not to let idiotic persistence cloud my will.
1.4k · Jul 2013
Purpose.
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.
1.3k · Dec 2013
Seamstress.
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 vile serrated day that suffered
The wind and the air to be stifled,
Spread sick among the ashes of burning,
And held silence upon the screams of yearning,
Yelped frigid chorus of agonistic moans,
In pain and torment, of rotting bones.
-
I walked along a path paved of marble brick,
My temperment unnerving, my gait was thick,
The path aforementioned halted upon a gate,
There opened, I saw, where the dead gestate,
Leading down a snake-bodied trail,
Tried as I did to turn back, I failed,
I saw no reason to leave the place,
The corpse garden, it seemed, held great solace.
-
Trudging down in acute contempt,
I struggled to see all but lament,
Comforted, dare I might say,
With being surrounded by extent of decay,
I flowed forth as if some purpose,
Guided me to them, the reason unsurfaced,
At where I found them sitting aside,
The trail of things in past belied,
Quiet, and leading to the body swamp,
With scars detailing drunk mourners’ clomps,
Chipped and chiseled, repaired and mended,
The Stairs awaited me and repented.
-
The first step sat on the top of the hill,
Where the path veered, silent and still,
A narrow case were these stairs so shrill,
A horror oozed from them and fear me filled.
I could not but wonder why irony had found,
That in the graveyard, it started profound,
Aside this step a great living tree at each flank,
And aside the bottom a matching pair, but dead and rank,
Like a gateway from living world to dead,
This whispered somber secrets to my ears full of dread,
I took the first step and it’s concrete creaked,
Rather odd, I thought, a sound for stone to secrete,
Or was it a muffled wince of pain,
From another mortal stepping again?
-
The weeping willows here feigned not their name,
For I heard them cry again and again,
The tragedy in bark and each branch,
Etched inside were names and romance,
Initials of lovers on the first two trees,
Rotting off the second set like some disease,
The twins were mirrored like that in a story,
But this was reality, this was horrifying,
I knew their fate even without a headstone,
They loved and died, and only the trees had known.
-
The perils of this place seemed haunting,
The grass so green and at peace, seemed daunting,
I took each step with trepidation,
The caution here lingered with anticipation,
At the last step I was greeted with a chill,
The faint breeze had just marked another ****,
As I stepped forth once more on to the earth,
It seemed as though the staircase lurched,
I knew then I could not leave,
Until I’d seen all of what was bereaved,
The only thought I could think was one,
Were I to die here, I wouldn’t be alone.
1.2k · Sep 2016
We're Lost.
Application of misinformation
Falsify a failed nation,
Eradication of all creation
Misinterpretation
Of representation
Deny the station
Granted by occupation
And the inhalation
Of justification
No prerequisite information
Just accumulation
No moderation,
Their determination
Through stimulation
Cultural *******
Communal degradation
Societal desecration,
Dehumanizing revocation,
Worldly humiliation,
Mortal sterilization
Never achieving mobilization
Lack of communication
Excelling in vile persuasion,
Proponents of procreation
Birthing digitization,
Destroy civilization,
Indications of adoration
Isolation in delineation,
Irrational indexation,
Fluctuating indignation,
No innovation,
Divination
Retaliation,
Immolation,
False ovation,
Lacking limitations,
Contextual intonation,
Divine fabrication,
Private publication,
Evolving fornication,
Give me extermination,
Notwithstanding annexation
Of dismaying oxidation,
Of valued perpetuation,
Global mass-castration,
Redundant rhetoric, dictation,
A donation, a dilation, a fixation,
An annotation of fibrillation,
We are personification
Of Contamination
Through globalization
Praising idolization
And finalization
Through *******,
No pragmatic exoneration,
In all frustration
We see not utilization
Nor stabilization,
Fearful implications
Of wayward stations,
Surplus mutilations,
Seeking militarization
Of worthless nations,
No conservation,
Just excavation
Of the population
******* on education,
Spitting on graduation,
No validation of aspiration,
Indoctrination of baptization
Mitigating litigation,
murdering habitation,
Quelling all vegetation
We will end in radiation
Through faulty navigation,
Abdication and abnegation,
All worldly agitation
Leads us to expiration,
Self-made annihilation.
There was never an end in sight,
We’re lost, and hope is a lie.
Awakened and running from the tomb,
I held what was dear, intellect and groom,
The grooming of intelligence and common sense,
At one point I thought there was no difference,
How could all of humanity be this insane?
I try to help, I’m no hero, in vain.
-
Running wild, I found the path
The winds and turns, cornering so fast,
I got lost within its woods,
Until I stopped, lost, and stood
Aside a trunk so broken and old,
I caught my breathe before a cold,
The breeze picked up and kissed my cheek,
I pulled my collar and felt so meek,
At some point, I started to endure
The path again, walking once more,
I thought of everything today had brought,
The lesson, the woman, the thoughts they wrought,
I thought of old times and hating things then,
Not knowing in time I’d hate like a man,
Pre-determined, with knowledge and ability,
To make the judgment with further virality,
In contempt I held all that I’d known,
A willing sacrifice upon a stone,
I walked with venom until it struck,
A visage so wrathful, it had me stuck.
-
Speechless, I paused and looked,
I stood there agape and almost mistook,
It for a leviathan, it was that grand,
A massive tree that surely there stands,
It must have been a thousand years old,
Seeing true tales of stories unfold,
Its grandeur surpassed all before
I’d seen or heard of in stories of yore,
Its beauty was a roaring wave,
Its white, dead bark and leafless branches depraved.
-
The dead, white Sycamore stared at me,
A bench underneath it beckoning,
When I sat, I knew nothing but dark tranquility,
I felt my blessed suffering,
I’d only ever known what agony,
Had life ever had in store for me,
But sitting under this guardian,
I could have slept soundly and quite solemn,
The chill in its bark warmed me inside,
I shared something with something in mind,
Its arms lingered over me and forewarned all out,
That I was not to be touched throughout,
My journey here, or ever again
Would the dead infest in me herein.
1.2k · Feb 2013
This Is Blasphemy.
The Church is the undying antagonist to the soul,

What was once a pure practice, has now been sold,

It's an undying commodity

That sells definitive absolution,

An unresting subsidy

That force-feeds their pollution.

-

The throats of unsure masses,

Are at their max capacity,

The unknowing public,

Craves Leaders' depravity.

To find God, one must first find themself,

Or find themself subjected

To a liar's daunting Hell.

The contradictions in the library of religions,

Written on Earth by men, with their own conditions,

Have soiled the name of God's Word,

They chose the verses carefully to

Distribute amongst the heard.

-

For Christians such as I,

Where is Judas, where is Mary?

Their gospels from the Holy Book

Ripped out and now miscarried,

Why did a peaceful Pope and King

Sanctify a genocide?

How do they know that Heaven,

For this exception, will subside?

-

Does God not weep at the loss,

Of any children slain upon his Earth?

So then why must we put Hindus, Jews,

Christians, Muslims, and Buddhists through eternal rebirth?

-

Each faction that lies herein

Has flaws amongst themselves,

The contradictory messages,

Lie entwined and fervently spelled.

-

Why does each religion preach

To love among another,

Yet wars are caused on their basis,

Of freedom from each other?

Look into your heart of hearts,

And "excuse" this ungodly behavior,

Save yourself your ******* pity

And start your own God to savor.

Find within yourself what is right,

Not to them, but to your own mind,

God will see your heart open,

With righteousness and kind.

-

We take the written, and copied oral stories,

Scribed years after the event

By man to mean they are of God's own lips

And to man we do repent.

That is blasphemy in itself

And we lie to one another,

About what we "know" to believe,

And chastise our own brothers.

-

This is why fewer Believe,

It is our elders' longing fault,

That they cannot explain questions,

Without expressing their own flaws.

The generations are no longer stupid,

But intelligent and wise,

They do not see within themselves,

That God himself in guise,

Of tests and corrupt men,

Within the religious establishment,

These dictatorships,

Are meant to blind us from within.

Release your heart and remain steadfast,

Their cultures cannot then bite,

We will achieve Paradise through Freedom,

And the evil, my God will smite.
1.1k · Jul 2013
Hidden Meaning.
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.
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.
1.1k · Aug 2013
The Oath.
Victims of blinded heresy,
See not the sins it entails,
Like the ship upon the salted sea
Gliding upon the vast Ocean's entrails.
They seek to rise so gallantly
Just to fall with the Angel's last flaw,
Seething surreptitiously
Breaking their own laws.
The endless bounds of nothing
Of which we know naught of,
Mistreated are they who come calling,
And directly are taken above.
I, who am Hell, have taken the oath,
To be free of my own sin,
I accept my unholiness,
As I stare in your eyes and grin.
1.1k · Aug 2013
To Pine.
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.
Under the sepulchre where my heart beats slowly,

There lies a necropolis where the dead lay glowing.

-

The undercroft beneath my ribs inhales frailty.

The tombstones of the truth here reminisce of failing.

-

An Acolyte to the corpse of Babylon,

The basilica spire, lies thereon,

A whisper of what had there been,

Before the Plague, the demise of Men.

-

A Monk to the infected Abbott,

The cathedral drowning in the cab’net:

The darkening secrets, too much to let go,

The flowing blood, too much for the snow.

-

A Coquette to the blistering Brothel

The modern meretricious hostel,

Lays Her cradled head down to rest,

The false hopes of a Prince, there infest.

-

The memory of a malignant massacre,

The Cancer spread like fungus on cadavers,

He tried to scream with no chords to make

The sounds emitted to keep the worms away

-

A Father of a Failure, afraid of the mirror,

As well as his own damnable creator.

The dissolution thereafter commences,

Although none change his recompenses.

-

The Leader of a glorious tribe there fallen

Rotting, decaying, like the rest of the solemn

With all respect, I know not His name

Forgotten in time, as was His fame

-

A “Friend” to a Martyr turned to a Betrayer,

Betrayer embroiled terms of the conveyor.

Martyr’s eyes and entrails are now long gone,

Though not with time, his head absent along.

-

A Dread-Worker to His mortuary,

His concept of death one day did vary,

Found were His diaries of a necrophiliac,

The town had him drawn, and quartered at that.

-

A Navigator of the salted sea,

He lays here now, bereft of memory;

It took His ship, the rocky cove,

His body here, His soul with Jones.

-

A Prophet of a fictional God,

He said he’d save the sacred sod,

And yet no miracle ever made He

His followers putrid now, festering.

-

The Violinist to His melody,

Forgot to eat, His mortal form craving,

Developing the perfect serenade,

He fell starving ‘fore having writ the last grade.

-

There is no judgement among the dead,

Except for what we give unto them,

They sleep soundly, forever eternal

Caring not who lay next to them, fraternal

Are they, and with silent kindness

Accept those also sharing their blindness.

-

The piercing shallow eyes,

At least for those who still have them,

Lack vision of the sky,

Or of the flowers who up to it stem.

-

Under the sepulchre where my heart beats slowly,

I feel a chill inside my spine that takes advantage fully,

The necropolis has inner bliss

It lies under ground and in our midst.
The feeling in which I wish to describe
Is not easily penned, nor said and why,
It’s not like something I’ve ever thought,
But it’s always been inside me to end, and wrought,
It is always present to ruin my thought,
And finally a vague depiction I’ve caught,
So please endeavor to bear with me yet,
As I endeavor to preparedly set
A most dreadful tone and thought in mind,
And deceive you of what you hide entwined.

Imagine if you will,
And humor me still,

Awake to find solace in the wrapped arms
Around you that caress your dreams and skin alike.
The warmth of the body that lay to you next,
Is soft as silk and softer even in mind,
With cherished thoughts of love and tender,
With valued honor to be defender
Of someone you see as perfection in life,
And one who you wish to spare from all strife.
-
And as they lay there still asleep,
You imagine their dreams, and cherish their peace,
You slowly drift off to join them again,
But wonder why you had first awaken,
What took you from your nap of naps,
What pulled you from a cloud’s collapse,
And with that thought you start to hurt,
All the worst things from dust to dirt,
Creep upon that sleepy head,
To reveal themselves as living dead.
Thought you they gone,
Gone had they not,
Ever present and likely sought,
The solace of your weary eyes,
And behind, the mind, cause of all despise.
-
For me, I held on to those arms
That felt like they’d never let go.
So why then did I need to hold on,
If solitude’s answer was “no”?
I felt as if it couldn’t last,
As if happiness was not as vast,
As promised as in the poems I’ve read
As fore-held as high as mountain’s lead.
I thought that if I could just hold on,
She might not let go, she’d see and keep on,
Maybe, I thought, she’d awake and smile,
Her groggy eyes beglazed and docile,
A visible love passing her sight,
Connecting through me and shooing the night,
I saw as it was a glorious bolt,
Of lightning, although as thin as smoke,
And smoke it was as dissipating,
And truth be told disappointing,
Because it was not that she even fluttered,
The fault not hers, but I still shuddered,
I imagined it all without her there,
Her kind fair eyes, and scented hair,
It didn’t seem right, not true or correct,
To have her absent and not connect,
But alas, it was with great found sorrow,
That she vacated on the morrow,
She left me in a pool of blood,
But figuratively I should say, could
It have been that all I was
Inside for her and that was,
The sanguine that cascaded upon departure
Of my love, of my Cupid’s Archer,
I sat for weeks and thought of that night,
Where I awoke and wondered this very plight,
I almost lost my very sight,
When rubbing my brow and temples so bright,
That I had in some sort an epiphany,
That this was this forsaken feeling,
That I have had throughout my life,
Of never allowing me to be all right,
Of nevermore allowed to be happy,
Of forevermore condemned to be misery,
In this, I found contemptible content,
She’ll pass and pass to my lament,
At least a spy might I be granted,
But to loneliness, I can’t understand it.
1.0k · Jul 2013
And The Rain Kept Falling.
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.
1.0k · Sep 2013
From A Heart.
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.
1.0k · Sep 2013
Something Wrong.
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.
990 · Jul 2013
The Brothel.
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.
975 · Nov 2013
In Nothing.
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.
964 · Sep 2013
Paradigm.
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.
958 · Jan 2013
Untitled.
In my heart there grows an ache

Its pain ever harder to take

And in this misanthropic misery,

where my words, static, fail me

it has deepened the darkened chasm,

the heartstrings snapped and broken,

never to fully heal to harmony

without your serenade, I am nothing.
Bounds and bounds of names of the forgotten,
I wandered through the dredges of solemn
Wastes that had entangled my thoughts,
The antagonistic braves of loss,
The ones who’ve left ones petrified,
The ones who’ve died, left crying alive,
I have also forgotten each name,
The false memory of these people, all the same,
Dead is dead, this flair for the living,
This selfishness bears no arrogance deceiving,
I am one who welcomes death,
This fortitude alarming to some who step,
Along the edge of insanity,
I am the abyss, the abyss is me.
So strong I was, walking head high,
Disregarding tokens left behind,
Until a sight then stopped me cold,
A sullen grave but marked ”Unknown.”
-
I couldn’t move,
I was frozen in place,
I was then proved,
My heart, indeed, was laced.
Not even I, who so asked for sleep,
Could even stop tear
From escaping me,
I couldn’t stop but wont to weep.
-
Aside from the sorrow ”Unknown” had caused,
What’s worse is that he had someone,
Here I was, alone and hateful,
Someone remembered, and was grateful,
For the stone had upon it but five little roses,
Alive and well, not dead like the others,
Some person some where had remembered ”Unknown”
So that not even ”he” was left alone.
-
Destroying everything I have believed,
Spiteful, hateful, and aggrieved,
I stepped back and cursed him in jealousy,
Fell back, I tripped, shocked, and conceived,
That perhaps I was thinking like a child,
Everyone deserves there life so mild,
Who was I to curse anyone?
All in all, I wanted everything undone.
-
The real beauty in this situation,
Is that no one earns stagnation,
No one knew him when he was buried,
But someone now shows care and hurried,
To his site to show their love,
I just hope he’s diseased, but Above.
946 · Jan 2014
Eden.
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.
918 · Jan 2013
Writing.
inspiration derives from the evocation of thought

symbolism, at times, can be cataclysm for the mind

and yet when one looks to be inspired,

until they are weary and tired,

when the earth’s ends,

can hold no trends,

they find themselves incapable,

and often times improbable,

of complimenting anything,

while criticizing everything,

and God forbid they stop and think

and look at it as a human being,

and as their ship begins to sink

a blast of thought comes after seeing

the black from scribing

eroded with the wind rising,

off the shores of the brain

to a vocabulary train,

delivering written ammunition,

after being petitioned,

and so the gallant author knight,

the reader-maiden’s arousing delight,

with his holy-tipped sword of ink

slays the scroll dragon in a blink

lawfully fixated,

and well compensated,

they sit back relieved,

finished with what had them aggrieved

until a source of new light,

causes rupturing delight!
912 · Sep 2013
The Mask.
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.
906 · Sep 2013
My Sweetest Dream.
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.
906 · May 2013
The Crash.
Hurled, entwined, the eyes go black,

Steel sarcophagus, demons stare back,

A glimpse so foul, of the abyss,

My life, it ends, possibility is missed,

The blood, gooey warm, and slick,

Lubrication of foulest finery and sick,

Glass shattering in mindless trance,

Thrown in the air to land on our back,

Twisted, cruelly formed, we look in oblivion,

Nothing sacred, it fits my life's ruin,

"Take me now Azrael, for I fear you not,"

Death will allow me to find peace and rot,

Worried, fearful, the gore too much,

Too little for my hands to touch,

Scalp displayed, upon landing safe,

I cry out, calming and wait,

The blood drips down upon my hand,

The pale skin turns sanguine, I find it hard to stand,

Entombed in metal, a twisted turn of fate,

She leaps to thought, I caress her cheek,

"Safe, be still, I'm here" I repeat.

I relocate my shoulder, a sickening pop

stomach turning pain, the faint I stop.

I wrench the door, and run around,

I rip hers open and rip casing to the ground,

Too shocked to cry, I gaze upon the wound,

I assess it as severe, although life is imbued,

_

CALL FOR HELP

I scream like the Devil.

My wrath for nothing but fear of loss

Drives my fury for her safety lost,

I hold a bandage to her head, and wait the eternal wait,

Speaking comforting lies, hoping they were true, and damning my own fate,

I hold her close and kiss her cheek,

I wipe the blood from my lips and realize I am weak.

"God, I'd give my life for her to heal"

Maybe it's a nightmare, this cannot be real.

-

In safety's arms, I still cry out,

I'M FINE, SEE TO HER, in doubt,

I leave my bed to wander the halls,

Searching for my name be called,

To be exhaled through the lips of a love,

To find my heart flutter, the wings of a dove,

The sight of her stabbed my eyes,

"Something so precious...", myself I despised.

I fought my way to her, and was almost placed in arrest,

I returned calm, I'm no help in duress,

I stand by her side and kiss her hand,

As my heart died, she smiled, I could stand.
for those of you who don’t know, i was in a really bad car accident a while ago with a now ex-girlfriend. we were both hurt, but her much more than me. i couldn’t believe what i was seeing or that it even happened and had no idea what to do. it still kind of haunts me and this is the only way i know how to cope. we are both ok and very lucky. though we aren’t together anymore, i wish her the best and i hope she is doing alright. Although i don’t have any feelings towards “us”, (and i started writing this about a week after the accident and was just now able to finish it because every time i tried to write it i started getting anxiety attacks) i thank God everyday that we walked out of the car. finishing this poem almost made me cry, and i, from the bottom of my ****** up heart, don’t want to offend anyone with this piece. thank you for reading.
900 · Jan 2013
The Macabre Romantic.
She sits, and she’s pale and cadaverous,

her black hair, short to her chin, the dye in her skin,

the corpselike designs deify her to me,

and she is marvelous.

-

A snakebite in her voluptuous blackened painted lips

eagers me to receive a curious kiss

upon my own who so long for,

the taste of her, like nothing before.

-

The gorgeous permanent stains of ink

upon her *****, thighs, arms, and calves,

exemplify her smooth pearl-white skin

her delicate tattooed knuckles and hands,

could now easily tear me in half.

-

As i try to look away

from that teasing, black lingerie,

she turns and looks with pale blue eyes,

the most wonderful I have ever seen,

so far into my soul she delves that I admit,

I am but a lowly, mortal being.

-

This Goddess of death, this Massacre Angel

what some call not a treasure,

she is in all my nightmarish dreams,

and I always owe her the pleasure.

-

I am a slave to her eyes,

that so easily peer through me,

it is not that I tread not, or wear disguise,

but the answer always eludes me.

-

Though she is my unholy holiness that

grants me dark in wretched light,

one day I shall pass and our spirits

will lay together for an eternity of

a macabre romantic night.
893 · Jan 2013
As I Maintain The Whip.
As I maintain the whip,
As I kneel upon the ground,
I strike myself, not in sin,
But as eternal man profound,
-
I grip the cat’o’nine-tails,
Ever it has been sharper,
I bless my back in welts and wails,
Until I feel no longer.
-
Fifty lashes strong now,
No sin had been committed,
The longing to feel just something,
For love to find, be fitted,
-
O’er and o’er I feel the sting
O’er and o’er I’m branded,
For the darkness inside of me,
For the sorrow I’ve commanded.
-
Ninety lashes, still not feeling,
Swelling, my tongue I’ve bitten,
Until the hopelessness in my heart…
Is dead and long be ridden.
-
Adrenaline coursing and still no pain,
I’ve conquered all but you,
The questions in my heart are somber,
Your face in my mind is glued.
-
One hundred and twenty strokes now,
And forever still seems far away,
Overcoming this paradox,
To curse this mental pain away.
-
I strive for physical touch of blade,
For emotionally I am torn,
I’ve felt nothing until you,
Since the day I was born.
-
A wretched sense of memory,
Caresses my cheek and I
Rip apart myself with malice,
For this nastalgia defied.
-
I wrap the shroud around me,
The thin linnen to my flesh fuses,
I tear it quickly without flinching
Off my gashes and bruises.
-
Still nothing has fluttered,
In the pain recepters,
I wonder how my life could,
Ever be this disevered.
-
It aches and moans with cracks and groans,
My whip, serrated, ne’er faulters,
My robe in flagellation,
Lays down my blood at aulter.
-
One hundred and fifty after the shroud,
I confess I could strike harder,
Perhaps it decidedly best,
If I think myself of fodder.
-
Nightmares are but where I dream,
Yet dream of this, I don’t.
If I were spied upon, I guess,
They’d beg me stop, I won’t.
-
The shroud now soaked with blood and flesh
And false hopes of years of rot,
This punishment is not what it seems,
It is not one to be fought.
-
The outline cry for oil dipped rope,
Has not this pain be stopped,
Moreso however I do fear,
That your love for me has dropped.
888 · May 2013
A Matter Of Flaw.
I choke on words that matter the most,
For fear of their losing meaning.
I stumble over actions I should have carried out
And then deny my original feeling.
I carry along with me a heart of hatred
So evil, so destitute.
It makes me only dream more of solace,
Of two souls imbued.
When "she" and "her" become "mine",
I will only sing songs to her,
Dedicated in rhyme and loss,
My eyes, an aquifer.
-
The lonliness is a waning prison,
The despair is a refilling chalice,
I drink from it repeatedly,
And force it down with violent malice.
I bring it upon myself,
Because I cannot see within,
I am never more than what I expect,
Where could I ever begin?
-
I ask for an angel next to me
At night to keep me still,
One for me to hold, cherishing
Her docile lull until
She yet awakens each morning
And drowns me in goddess-like trance,
One cannot make decisions
Until one has his own stance.
I know not where I am going,
Nor what I will find along
The lonesome road I walk each night,
A road where I'd rather not be alone.
A hand to hold, a strength to give,
I want and need to feel,
But inside it burns, it hurts even,
Hatred is all that is real.
So my angel, be you out there,
Waiting so patiently,
If I'm allowed to yet meet you,
Let us meet then, presently,
Stop me before the abyss is my soul
And I'll try and sew on the wings I ripped off
My back, while you walk among my thoughts,
I will dream of you and I, while my nightmares wonder,
And think of all the words I should've said and fought.
Meandering down the trail of old brick,
Saw I a siren of death and sick,
Her skin so pale, it looked diseased,
All was nothing compared to her beauty,
She lay across a hill on a blanket,
Her raven hair at each of her flanks and,
She had open a tome of what appeared to be names,
Also undressed, I looked away ashamed,
She wore only a set of bedroom garments
And eye coverings, all black adornments,
Scars radiated through all of her features,
And sat beside her were to handsome creatures,
Pups of age and loyalty,
To Her, I guessed, they owed fealty,
Ferocious beasts they, they peered at me,
I was but calm, unfaltering,
Twas only then did she spare me a gaze,
She smiled then also, and beckoned me stay,
For whatever reason, I felt necessary,
To comply to each whim, each want and need,
She rested on her stomach across a grave,
One that jutted out among the staves,
One leg kicked up, the other lay,
She appeared so peaceful, given the day,
I bowed my head, keeping eyes for respect,
She acknowledged without any contempt,
I stepped forth and approached Her, not to intrude,
I walked presently so as not to be rude,
I arrived and lingered until she spoke,
“My darling, you and I have prods to poke,”
She said ”I’ve watched you since you arrived,
And long before, I must contrive,
I’ve fancied you for quite some time,
So in this yard compose me a line,
I’ve planned to see you here through,
And to make sure your mind yet is unglued,
You see, I’ve all right to be intrigued,
Your mortal love does yet suit me,
You’ll learn to love me as you do my father,
Of Him you know, you’ve loved much longer,
Of Him you have written countless rhyme,
And now, in love, I’ll have your time,
Then be off, for we can’t be,
So sad, truly, we are misery,
Alas, I will hear you now,
Speak your rotting words of love, perhaps a vow.”
Shocked, I stumbled in my mind,
Speechless, I groped for a rhyme,
To compose for a lady that asked me such,
Much less, for one with love’s interest,
I searched across the vast of land,
For the most somber sorrowful strand,
“Sweet dying flower, December’s tears,
Grant me a visage of festering years,
My decaying heart rots at the loss,
Knowing the pair of us are lost,
If this be the only sight of you,
Granted my eyes this one time through,
Every night hereafter I will weep and weep,
Until I may see eternal sleep,
Your endless eyes, and body fine,
Would I reminisce of touch, and taste wine,
Until I may lay in bed with you in,
To wait forever sounds like death and ruin.”
I whispered my last line and there she quaked,
“Oh,” she said ”how my heart does ache.”
We looked at each other and then i knew,
Who her father was, and then Her too,
She was the keeper of the dead and dying,
Of which my heart knows not of crying,
Fancied with me as I was with her,
Her father, Death, my greatest Sir,
One day, I thought, I’ll make her mine,
The three of us then, will rule darkness entwined.
-
Like she said, I then had to leave her,
At least until i died and could see her,
She bade me well with a full lipped kiss,
Her touch of lip so cold, and bliss…
Upon the path I again stray,
Enjoying my otherwise darkened day.
848 · Jul 2013
My Muse.
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.
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