I am unsolved, I am a statue in mortality, my smile has had an impact on society but my life has never been absolved

All I wanted to do was entertain, but instead, someone betrayed me and let my blood fall like rain and with nothing to gain

Before and after, my eyes have always been open so while you figure out who's the killer wheather it was Rob, Ed, or that guy Hansen, I have to wait, invisible to the world and lost until then

I've been killed, tortured but you all just talk about which side they cut first or how my body tore, the name is Black Dahlia and that name has become a media *****

My smile has been smeared ear to ear, my body severed in half, my veins drained of every quart but I am still proud to say my name is Elizabeth Short

There is something violent about how I see the skin on your body
Its so rich and smooth, almost decadent and unlike you

This observation turns into a premeditation when you touch my cheek
Its almost like i can feel the heat melting off your bones

As I laid you down and slipped a knife underneath your sternum
You whispered something hidden in painful tones like a sharp breath piercing the guttural moans

But I dont need to hear words to know the searing desire steaming from your guts as I replaced them with hot stones

The blood on your finger tips remind me of fresh water on leaves after a storm and your severed head looks like its been through famine, disease, and a damaged city plagued and war torn

Yet there is still beauty in the decayed decadence that is your mutilated corpse

The moonlight drowns in the canal of blood begging for remorse while the insects march and sing a song of things that can only get worse
©anthonyasylum

Your a wraith, a ghost dedicated to a dying faith, like a mistake, you used life for your needs and gave only to take, as a friend you offered lessons in hate but reeked of an essence that only you could create, ignorance, selfish religious babble for instance, attacking the ideals of others with a dagger between your teeth while preaching against the dangers of he who lies beneath, dont confuse evil for pain, try to experience pleasure from the searing rain that hisses off your hatred, if you can't then I'm sorry my friend, but you've already gone insane

Creatures crawl from under the roots of trees and bugs scatter from the pockets of the lost to the cadence of sprinkling rain

Silence in the woods of missused life brings out the sounds of wind screaming past the tightened ropes and rusted knives

Those who walk through the aokigahara forest hear a symphony of life that persists through the maimed, a festival of tents and people strung up like decorations as if it was meant for a parade

Nature reclaimed the unused death of unwanted bodies and the rain drained flesh from bones, simulated hell and suicide is what's found soon after passing the warning signs in red and white marked zones.

Coagulated blood dried out from the sun, footprints pressed into the mud from a night on the run, chased and ravaged, pressed against a tree with emotions gutted.

Mutilated and dying, I'm laying under falling stars, saturated skies and underlying scars, every conversation with you feels like being run over by a highway full of cars.

Blood screaming from a cautourised wound travels farther than your ability to listen to reason, wide eyed, your pasteurized white eyes seem cold but searing like the flesh of a steaming heathen.

Necrosis sets in on the heaping pile of me drudged upon the roots of my personification, watch the black blood slipping through the dirt like molasses as it climbs over your teeth and grips the lips before it passes, blood loss is creating a hallucination.

Watch as I become hollow from your cannibalistic lifestyle. Your desperation, human flesh you defiled, mindless separation, our family's bodies stuffed in a corner and piled, you became a Wendigo, a wicked transmorgification.

I let the hate overtake me like a bull chasing a fool, my horns focused deep into your chest, my anger becomes my tool. Taking a step back I can see how much I really hurt myself, I feel so gone, am i sadistic or something far beyond and more wrong?
Watching you bleed, I still feel nothing but hatred in myself so I'll peel off your face and separate you from your spine, I can feel something clinging on but its just too hard to find.
Perhaps this is an act of greed or maybe i'm just a monster that needs to feed. You're so deceiving, you throw around trust just to see how long it takes to rust, you're so misleading, you laugh in the face of your creation before you give a slow castration, you deserve all the pain your receiving.

There is a woman, her name is anonymous, she's strong and has an understanding of the ominous. She lives in a house with an infinite view on top of mount Olympus where she grew up battling Ares and learned that life doesn't have to be so serious. Kissing a poem like her is why I'm wishful, to feel the silk underneath her clothes is what keeps my chest slow and blissful. As a poet I'll call her Athena, the one who's anger can devour the flesh of anyone who enters her arena, a goddess in her own right, she even has three golden apples from Eris, sitting atop a bowl of emeralds in her eye, its quite the sight, when I look into them I feel like I'm going to lose all control and fall to her every whim so I must fight, fight until she stays with me another night.

I was too young to hate, falling asleep afraid, my dreams never stayed straight, they contorted and they twisted, then the monsters would come and visit,I'd blink and appear in an asylum, hugging the walls in the dark it starts, I'd only be able to hear them, no light and I could never see any windows to know if it was day or night but hearing the sounds would make me take dirt and push it in my eyes to banish my sight, I start to hear the footsteps as they circled around me so I'd stand still in hopes they couldn't hear me but they would mimic my families voices so I couldn't help but reach out and that's when I'd feel something dry and slimy, I'd scream as I notice its loose skin that I'm touching and the tears would wash out the dirt and leave my eyes blurry and grimy, a labyrinth of horrors separated me from the world and my sanity, locked away with the worst things my imagination could conjure, I'd wake up to my parents shaking me and yelling to snap out of it but I'd only see shadows and something separating the head from my fathers shoulders, as a child my sanity was very narrow, nothings worse than trying to sleep at night but instead you see a man sever the leg to your mother then trying to **** out all the bone marrow, I couldn't escape, and every day for so many years I had to suffer at night whenever the black curtains would fall and suffocate, I was too young when I learned to hate, I hated to be me when I wasn't me and I hated to be seen when it wasn't really me, that's when i learned what it was like to be your worst enemy, before I was eight I already felt like I was one big error, I would stay up late but my eyes would fall and my dreams would terminate as I fell into another night terror.

Dont come to me with these feelings that you fabricated, dont try and remind me of the times that you made me feel obligated, just dont come close when your feeling lost and conceded because one day I won't be here to take it. I just need time, something you could never give and its been a crime that I let you bite me in the back with teeth like some toothbrush shivs. This is just who I am, these words are the bones that make up a body which emotions flow through like blood, thoughts are the veins that make jet streams shooting out from the end of frayed tips of an amputation gone wrong. With my wounds I bring a flood and like a wolf you were instinctively drawn, the scent of a dying animal brought you close but then you chose to dispose instead of being exposed, you walked away and said sorry but now you come back talking about a decision you loath? Your a wound I was willing to close.

Hello mom, I know we haven't talked in a few years because I left without saying goodbye but I've been thinking of you a lot lately, I'm sorry I left in a hurry but I wasn't strong enough to stand there and vent my reasons without telling a lie and  I'm starting to regret it, well I dont know I might be. I saw my reflection in the window of a passing car and it reminded me of when you would make me stay home from school and lock me in the closet filled with mirrors after you would beat me and get too drunk to stand, I remember going to school after a morning when you'd turn up the heat on a faucet and place it over my hand, I used to wait in anticipation for when the skin would boil, bubble, peel, and fall. How could you think I'd forget about it all? Like when it would rain and I'd run outside light as feather, excited to swim in 30° weather when it was really you holding my face in a giant puddle filled with bugs that would slither out from the gutter runoff so can you blame me not being able to keep it together? I grew up with everything except love, every time I tried to chase the idea of it you would wrap plastic around my head but I was so small that I never realized it was just a rubber glove, I remember everything. I tried so hard, I even tried when I saw you crying one night after you got beat by some man I put my hand on your shoulder and said it'll be OK, you screamed then bent my wrist back and threw it in the blades of a moving fan, that's the real reason why I left and ran. I know I missed your funeral but I dont feel bad, I'm sitting in a hospital talking to specialists and they keep saying I just dont remember anything and that's what really makes me sad but its fine because when I get depressed, mad, or want to swallow a fist full of pills I just look at the scars you left on my legs when you pushed me into an oven when I was four. How can they say I dont remember anything when I can recall everything? I dont know but I'm writing this letter so I can clip it to the crime scene video they show me every day of your body parts washing up on shore near the old harbor, but I guess ill probably just forget until I see this note again so I'll have to repeat the same routine forever and force my brain through this mental labor.

The bags underneath my eyes carry so much weight,
every hour i dont sleep adds to what i cannot take,
there's too many reasons why i cant sleep at night,
everything's caused by me trying to do whats right,
nothing counts anymore when i'm beaten down but all that matters to you is wearing your crown.
Have i ever mentioned that its really hard to care when emotions are so rare? I know I must have said it somewhere,
when i caught you in a lie I still tried to be fair but now you want to go behind my back and do it all again?
No, don't you ******* dare. All these feelings have led me astray, maybe this is where im supposed to stay but this can't be it,
there's got to be another way.
Patience is life's blood,
so much has poured over my edge that everywhere i step is a pile of black mud. I'll be here waiting for something new,
in a dark place hating all of you with my head down low and my hopes for something new, amidst the confusion, at least its something to do.

Violence is real and natural. Multidimensional, it exists in every form of life. Its visceral, it shears through the thickest ice, survives the coldest vice and won't shatter when thrown from incredible hieghts.

Violence is quick and unjust.
It swiftly infects the blood then slowly turns a useful mind to rust, takes away all that someone is and replaces it with formaldehyde and sawdust, it wants to watch as the body succumbs to deaths lust.

Violence is hard and true.
It's an event, a car crash that forced a woman out of the windshield like a 12 gauge slug pumped straight into the heart of a child who's witnessed skin hanging from the hole his mother just went through.

Violence is in the air like a pathogen, infecting us with an experience that executes our innocence, genocide, created from hate by that precious few.
In one dimension or another, it's the backbone of every great nation and of all life, it's nothing new.

This is how i have become, walking a path led by a dead man pointing to *****. A waking apocolyptic hypocrisy with an apathetic view and a systematic face, I fear that this life will be nothing less than a simplistic disgrace. I have no need for a preacher when im dead, my loved ones will be sad for a while but i would'nt want to see them misslead. My ideals are my own and my beliefs will always be unknown, this world is a glass factory and its only a matter of time before i see how far this pebble can be thrown. After this life everything about me will die but my mind will transcend and go someplace I cant quite comprehend, until that day i have to live a forced life, hiding in plain sight, taking revenge on those who have caused strife, until the day I reach the end of life, until the day i blink and see the darkness of light.

Depression is a kind of home for me. Winter is the season I come home.
©anthonyasylum

Frostbitten time lays still in the wilderness, devoid of human life, the nature can roam free in the icy emptiness, distorted frozen water strips the trees of their skin and yet its here that life persists, it would be beautiful to live in a world like this.

Naked ambitions held you down and despair was the crown you polished while your reflection drowned in the petty actions of a human dedicated to a life of self medication until you exhausted your time looking for a place to hide and wasted your time trying to sway your ever changing tide.

They snapped my neck and i can tell these cannibals will try to peck my bones bare after holding me over the fire to singe off all my hair, no bite ever goes to waste when they give my rib meat to their children rare. Rusted knives cut deep into my thighs, not satisfied until they've boiled out my cries. I cant feel a thing but the horrors have gouged out my sight and with my blood draining into a bucket it looks like I have lost your political fight.

My head is over swelling, my heart is overwhelming, i've been trying to deal with this fear but no promises are forthcoming. Abused intentions create these walls you have put up around me, tortured ambitions mummify the air that surrounds me, cremated passion falls from above like black rain making it hard to see, dreams are projected from my obsidian eyes onto a silver screen woven from a life of lies. Truth only hurts when you become afraid of the pain, learn to overcome this this hurt and you'll just have to suffer with the shame. In these last moments I have no one to blame and everything is well in my head as i prepare to take aim, a clock on the wall counts down to the twilight while I inhale the last cold breath of the night, peace is all i hope to gain so i pull the trigger and the last things i hear are sounds of thick pounding rain.

How many angels have I shed to make way for the demons in my head?

How many bodies have I eaten and abused in my bed as I look for the lost love in my sheets that only shows when its red.

A poem of love and death, a tale of lust and hate, this is a crime of passion led astray.

Skin like a doves breath, a voice of trust and filled with hope and fate, one day the beauty and art of you will help me find my way.

Even if it means our death is to be the outcome of a beautifully painful day.

There's a burn my body always feels in the heart of December when the sense of ice grates underneath my fingernails as if their being dismembered, sometimes I walk through the motions and look forward to someone who can blow cold shards of glass down my neck until my skin is bloodied and tattered just so I can feel an arch of any sensation that may break the numbing weight that's collected through the years of an uneasy mind screaming to forget but only remembers. This leads to nowhere faster and faster every year without time in its grasp, I know I'm alone in a universe where its space is cold and my fear steers the broken mast to the black hole that leads somewhere outside my soul. The sound of teeth that can't stop the chatter accompany me until they shatter like glass onto my black and blue limbs mauled by the frost built up from passing thoughts that have never even seemed too matter. Its a sad thing to go insane when sanity is abundantly growing like daisies on top of a shallow grave, like a feeling of love turned into hatred because something had to misbehave or like a child beaten and left in the rain just waiting to be saved, all we can do is stay awake and look forward while we try to stay brave.

How many pages til the next chapter in this story of the ages as abominations run amok through the paragraphs stuck in between punctuations like veal in cages.

Somthing twisted is connected like the braided naval vein feeding me from a space I don't try to give a name.

Lines flowing through my system powered by the frame of an electric main keeping me in a place sparking at the touch of anything mundane.

Seeing is believing when it's the words your conceiving, birthing of a tale designed to keep you feeling, aspects of the sinister to contrast the healing, rhyming is easy but it's the meaning of the whole that resonates as an understanding.

Life is a simple story with a complex veiw, you can become a living pariah or a hero who dies and its nothing new.

My poems are of a single thought held up on the back of a personal Atlas separating world's of a diffrent hue.

An anxiety attack holds the body pressed against a table, unable to even struggle as the ropes pull and fold the layers of your mind like a peeling lable

Cloth begins to cover the exposed skin, over a layer of sweat that starts soaking in, panicked and encased in claustrophobia with weaning breaths that sound out a hallowed hymn

Skin pulled tight along the muscles, layers ripping across the joints like papyrus separating blood vessels, body pressed so tight that straight knees crack with the buckles

Unable to evade the stout flame hooking into the small of your back flaring up to the ceiling charring the body black, its a panic attack that has you trapped

Mummified and cremated without a hope of escape while motivation lays in ashes around the structure left behind in the agony of a triggered perception

All without the grace of an execution outside of this institution, locked away from happy thoughts and depression, the trauma stops only when it waits to feed on the negative pollution.

Religions persist on personal prohibition, it puts all the blame onto you for someone else's sinful personification.

 Ideological love is how they live but there's no restriction on perdition of a mythological god above. I'd rather be the son of perdition than the folly of lambs.

Too exhausted to audition for a man of clay puppeted by people who belive in the same puppet that once traversed their lands.

To die and be locked in the Land of silence, Land of desolation,  a World in December, Purgatory is sounding better and better.

There's a woman whose invisible when I'm awake, she's just a dream of who I chased in life, who's shoulders carried such weight that each step caused a quake, a force of nature is what she is, a new universe, somthing she's ready to charge out and take.

A dream in the night

She's a vision of both light and dark in place where they medley between dimensions, she's the type that always runs away from her family's predictions and has no time for her own admitions, the kind to stay calm when the wind picks up, without a care of the world's intentions, she brings out her poetry book and writes down all her ambitions.

A fire so bright

She has dreams of touching the stars no matter how hot they'd turn out to be, she'd welcome the black fingers and charred palms so long as there's a new horizon to see, new lands to brave, focus frontal and astral dust in her tracks as she speeds across nations and over every sea, never to live a relapse.

A drug without addiction

No dreams of being a cover girl, she enjoys the dirt on her hands and laughter in the air while dancing on expectations of failed people who couldn't bare to dance with someone who just wasn't afraid of the stares, she just brushes it off like autumn leaves in her hair.

A life without conviction

Strong enough to take on a giant but brittle to the touch, she refused help every turn of the way and chose to take the punch, stubborn and reliable, someone who gives all they can even when it ain't much.
 
Always so strong

She's a dark light in the golden sun with her Auburn hair, pale complexion, and emerald eyes, she's a bright dream in the moonlight with her ruby lips, colorful songs, and complex inquiries into maybes, hows, and whys.

I never thought you could be gone

Everyone has an end like the weaning breath of a dieing dream but no one would have thought a dream would end its self.

Always so wrong

A perfect funeral for an almost perfect person, perfect sounds to describe an almost perfect memory, your smell on my jacket brings the end to an almost perfect day.

A conclusion to your favorite song

You taught the world the meaning of saying goodnight and taught me the meaning of waking up to say, come whatever may, no matter how wrong or right.

I go where ever the wind blows, I keep running to where no one knows.

Everything is in chaos when I become part of the world, I have to find a way out because my logic is always being burned and curled,

sometimes when my head feels unwound I shred my skin then my mind feels unbound.
No one really stays around for long so Im trying to get used to life without sound until the day I'm gone.

There is no beast inside my cage only an animal incarcerated in rage,
like a demon from an endless age,
I learned to conjure myself from every dark place I know, like a story with an endless page. I live my life for myself and accept every experience until the end of my days.

I can feel my sanity beneath my skin evading every incision I create, I inject a poison to go numb before I start to go cold and shake but its all a matter of how much I can take and I dont think that I can last another week. Its going quiet in my chest and I can feel my eyes start to sting with sweat, I have to lay down and rest. Something has gone wrong and I can see my body on the floor starting to blister and bubble, skin slips off like the wrapper on a popsicle, liquid escapes and hits the ground turning black as cole. My fears ran rampant and my temper was unmatched, I couldn't control myself, now I watch from across the room as my flesh slips and sags with all the insects and eggs that are ready to be hatched.

Lay down this night
Try not to fight
Night terrors shepherd a blighted terror insight

Get through this flashing fright and wake up with another mental lashing akin to febral crashing

Every kid's born with a light
And as kid the dreams gripped mine tight

Eye lids fall to sleep
Fadeing into shades blacker than black
Seamlessly brought back
Seeing the dark move, coming closer to kiss my cheek
Choking on fear I couldn't get out a peep
Eye lids peeled and tacked on the tourtures rack

Afraid to see my family die I'd cover my face with invisible hands
So much hell inside my brain
I'm forced to watch as my sister's would fall and smear wherever it lands

How can a kid see so much when he sleeps?

Waking up afraid I would go to school unaware it was real life
Feeling dissolved, broken, school was like chopping at a tree with a dull knife

Live my day and proceed to lay my head down
Pillows and blankets comfort but cannot support the torture when my heads bound
Tears in the eyes knowing the nightmares are always around
knowing I'm not crazy as I feel voices with no sound

At some point I accepted this is how I am

Night after night, horrid beings and terrible stories unfolded like the buckled spine that's scraped into a body bag after singing forty storeys to the ground
©anthonyasylum

Captured as a slave to the Moon from underneath the canapés, this nights pain has no ease while drums thump as fast as heart beats.

Dragged through massive gates and drudged through a city of mud, tearing apart from the inside without knowledge of which God we should hate for our blood.

Stripped and painted with dirt while we're led up the structure where we know we'll be hurt, kept in line as not to disturb the stream of blood from bodies which it spurts.

Bodies tumble down to the cadence of stomping crowds and fire flares to the sounds amping cheers.

Broken bodies are fed to the snearing hounds once darkness begins to blanket this city and its crown.

This place is their temple and these stairs lead to our sacrifice on top of an alter, a tragedy of buckling knees and malice in the form of a knife that will strike without falter.

Under this Blood Moon our lives are sealed while our people are killed, this night has no light for the weak or strong willed, the only solace is that they may yet drown in all the blood that has been spilled.

I'm a giant surviving on scraps from smaller hands, an Atlas without a known purpose living amongst Noam Chomskies and Ayne Rands, scrounging around this philosophical symphony for somthing hidden in the slaughterhouse of lambs.

Come lightning come
Flash across the sky and illuminate the hills with fire, stun the world and give my mind the freedom to climb higher.

 Let my body suffer the charring heat inside a forest burning faster and faster with natural disaster,
In hopes that my mind can flee the pain and feel the gain of a certain kind of relieving rain, flooding the ground that separates something sane from all the mundane.

 So come lightning come
Liberate the world I know and illuminate the dark corners of the mind and allow me the chance to be free.

My poetry is open and bare on the examination table
While my brain falls into place in the exsanguination cradle
Pieces fit together like a monster from the old world fables
Set up to disassociate the Cains from the Ables

We're all meant to die
There's no harm in asking why
Self harm, drugs left in the arms, premeditation, self incrimination
It won't matter when we're stitched up in a Y

Theres hidden meanings in every line
A chance to put aside all the woes and keep feelings burning inside
When things are on the decline
I can write down facts and theories
Like self investigation as to why I'm feeling weary
No Overbearing intoxication here just a rough cut heart of ice melting due to overheating and slipping liquidation

Weather or not you want to thrive or just get by, there's that will to survive that we can't escape and it keeps us naive and blind.

Dangers keep us locked up and treated as strangers while reason is a mystery we search for in gangrenous church mangers and pound our proud heads against a cross till it craters.

Something earned is something lost and something we already have is nothing we can gain.

A bleak outlook gives advice to take a step back, not to take the other direction but to reclaim stepping stones as a momento of the life that we lack.

Like dawning a black coat while trying to infiltrate witches and ghouls unaware that your the monster in a makeshift faćade handing out nooses by the spools.

After which defending yourself on facts without merit to a town only left with fools.

What you can claim as facts are someone else's theories and someones reasoning is another person's fallacy.

The Noose is inductive to reasoning, in a world so free it's no wonder why The Noose makes such a perfect seasoning.

Back and forth in repetition
Trapped in a twilight's shaking embolism
Asunder is the father envisioned
Atrophied arms locked at the behest of a child christened

Lives intersect and for a moment, love is born
Trials are created and for the first time a name is worn
Among the quiet of involuntary matricide a promise is signed and sworn

Familial pain meets the curses of life
Perennial anguish clenches blood soaked sheets and for the first time, hate is born in the twists of umbilical strife

Heartbroken and greiving next to a pallid flame that's smothered and lifeless

Here, for the first time, tragedy is born

A new dawn so precious it's fire kept close, buried in the sternum of a giant secured in an indentured embrace

It's here, for the first time, a god is born

There's distant scratching like strings on a loose violin and rain shattering against the hood of a shambling man passing me from a place I've never been.

This night seems to bring a comfortable chaos like the sound of a dying drum inside a weaning rib cage with the wind that screams through trees mimicking a wheezing child's vocal range.

Each step forward is a chant from an old god and each drop of blood is a sip from the paradigm, voices scream and hiss from the nearby fog while I climb down a mountain I've never climbed.

Bones snap and buckel while fingers curl and twist, blistering skin ***** that insects suckle and searing eyes that unfurl and wince.

There are things worse than nightmares, like an orchestra without strings or a breath without voice. Something simple to grasp but impossible to understand if you live without choice.

Bubbling skin surrounds the mind, lungs will collapse after given enough time, ears peel to the sound of blame, the heat burns from the essence of shame.

Anxiety fills the heart while the mind bleeds, fire spits on your life as your mind races at careless speeds, **** that thing called fate, never neglect the hate.

Anger is your weapon drawn from the fire that surrounds you, brush the coals away from your eyes, look around and decide who needs to experience the perditious cries.

There is no escape from yourself once you turn seven shades of blue

You can scream at death and brush away the leaves but your grave will always have a body that decieves even after being filled with sawdust and glue

Bound to anger and rebellion you struggled to let anyone in
Bindings so tight, fingers turned black like that night
Screaming, crying, attempted flailing
You tried so hard to not give up the fight
You succumbed to the blight

Your mom couldn't even recognize the cold leather bound over these bones that are told to be you
Malnutrition claimed stake to the body
Amphetamines numbed the mind and caused leishons to start rotting

No escape in death
No escaping breath
Hollowed head from a chest filled with ****

Your life shrunk, grew diseased and immature
Beaten senseless and tied to the headboard
Did you suffer? No one can say for sure

Buried with little more than the foegiviness of a closed casket and the permanantness of an abused life
The only memento you'll carry on is the form fitted ligature marks and consciousness derived of strife