Devilish torment -- his body is my lament.
He crawls beneath the cracks and finds
The dark cellar my "worst" ferments.
He feeds it as it rots, just to make its wine more bitter...
Squeezed from the finest lies,
Designed to make an addict from a quitter.

Like a dark and tempting vacuum that my soul cannot escape,
Attractive in its repulsion,
Its a part of me that loves the way it hates.
Masturbatory and selfish, With a thirst that can't be quenched...
He finds the spots within me, that make even deities flinch.
Their knees ***** and crumble, at its all-consuming "nothing"...
I never knew my zero could be so wholly unbecoming.

He, or it, will surely be my undoing.
Yet, somehow, that keeps me moving.
So uncomfortably I'll admit...
It's the brutal nature of it all,
That I find so disturbingly soothing.
I've been trying to see the in-between;
The overlap in separation...
                            I want to see what can't be seen.
                            I want to embody imagination.

"That's a tough way to go." They say,
                    "You shouldn't try so hard to know."
But a river is a tough thing to stop,
                                   So I just let the water flow.

Because you don't come upon an idea...
You always start from within it,
Both springing forth and unfolding,
From their inception, until it's finished.

Your ideas, as you are, are intricately connected
To a place where no thing exists without a purpose...
No answer without a question.

The question and answer, you see, exist in simultaneity...
Born from the same concept; they are stuck together, forever, genetically.
With an audible sigh...
                 I curse the world to gain some clarity.
Things weren't so black or white before...
                                           The laughter, tears --
At once, a sad and laughable disparity.

Like washed-out sadness,
                     I'll make it hard to judge my smile.
"The sun may fade these colors," I say,
                  "But they'll be gone for just a while."


I exhale...
                                              ... And I miss you.
                              Like the first time I felt rain;
                                     Or sat alone in the dark,
            My prayers eclipsed by just your name.

I longed for your shine
And the warmth within your Sol.
But your clouds gave way to Luna...

                                                       ...And I left.  
                             Still halfway short of whole.

For now, I'll do what I can to force these
                              clouds back over the moon.
Because even in depravity,
                                       Or lonesome solitude,
I find the comfort that is darkness...
                         And in the darkness I find you.

Still, I hope you feel the thunder.
Or that the light leads your way through.
I can't make this darkness bright, but still,
I think... If I can't discern what's true...
I hope you laugh, at least, in irony.
I hope you smile, at the storm...
                    That casts its shadow just for you.

I've found the lightning doesn't last,
And the thunder comes too soon.
So alone, in solidarity, I will fight my fate
To be construed...
                                          Against myself,
As the answers to my questions' echo --
               reverberating in an empty room.
Doing a dance,
to wear a mask,
To play a game that you can’t stomach...
Just so that the truth doesn’t have to face you,
The way you recoil from reflections of yourself.

You’d forsake your happiness, your health —
                                                               ­                You would burn it all.

To do a dance, to wear a mask
To play a game you’ll always lose.
To look in a mirror...
To tell an image that it’s anything but you.

But it's in that moment that you'll find
you tell the unfamiliar truth.
As you bleed and feed your own obliterated youth...

To feel, and then
                          to lose —
Just like the loss you always knew
                          you’d find in disappointment.
Like an unholy anointment
                          of your least desirable possessions
That retire from the heavens
                          Back to you.


To betray, and to amuse
Alone.
The ides of irony rejoice!
For they’ve found their lamb... or
their ever-dying muse.

Forsaking life itself, you clamor
To see others just like you.

Maybe one day one will choose
           the path that you can’t leave,
As it reciprocates to thee —
            Two partners in misery, fated to excuse
the waste of each other...
            until they find there’s nothing left.

To feel the flame within its breathe consumed.

Wearing a mask,
To die a death,
To to live the lie,
Whose dance you six-times misstep
And on the seventh, betrays you.

The difference between actions and habits, is often measured by the person you're asking.  
One bump, one line, one half ounce... All shared by people you don't even give a **** about.

These chemicals make me sick --
Limitless...Why quit?
When it's only ten bucks for a hit like this?
Even Jesus Christ would have gotten addicted, if drugs in his day were half this good.

"Yeah, I'm smashed -- but I promise I can drive fine."
Walk and push the limits of a real fine line...
If I don't **** myself, or someone else... I'm happy.
Stare death in his eyes, wink, and start laughing.

Gasping as I swerve lanes --
Stay safe, get paid. Mundane daily.
Living a-live.. Eat. Sleep. Dream. Get laid.  
Chase feelings.

           Please, just feel me now.
                                    You know me, right?

           Please, just feel me now.
                                    You love me, right?

I want to melt with you -- let our souls collide...
Dissolve the boundaries between students and teachers.
To bridge the gap in the great divide
No secrets between us -- bleed into the speakers.

Feel the air in your chest, and ask *** for a reason...
To stay or leave Him.
He makes excuses...

                                                     ­                        ... Believe Him.
In a wakeful contradiction, it lays fact between my fiction,
Tangling subatomics, it unravels as its tricks spin
deeper toward the outward...
                         it won’t let up, 'til I give in.

Over matter, lay my mind…
I tell a lie to pass the time...
But there’s no reason nor a rhyme --
                                      Less still, a purpose?
I search for something to remind my mind
                                      that there’s truth that isn’t worthless…

But as always, failure appears;
                                        in a sort-of amnesic continuity.
And my reality lies to my own mind
just as well as it succeeds in its futility.
With destruction as its manifest,
It tells me that I stand my tallest
                                       Upon two buckled knees.

Just as faith will find one’s doubt --
                           a search within has left without.
It seems that an answer, once sought out,
                          will be left lacking its question.

My truth divides itself, as a product of infinite misdirection.

I try to substitute a reason for a rhyme.
But with no lies left to pass the time...
                                                                 I swallow a dose of ignorance.
                                                       It goes down smoother than the truth.

A war that started with a truce,
This world betrayed my faith to show me
                                                            That I'm only tall enough
                                                            Once I’ve been cut down slowly.

Like a pill too large to swallow, I think I’m choking on myself . . .
Or the irony of asking, “How could I be so careless?”
Here I stand, Barely standing,
                   Consumed almost entirely
                              By my own dry-heaving self-awareness...

Left to fight the fears that my nightmares create
I’m still running from my past, yet haunted by my fate.
                      They walk beside me always, shadowing wholeheartedly —
                      Existing as a duality, both apart from, and a part of me.

These ghosts have taught me very little...
                                    Aside from what I hate.
But, I've come to learn not to fear
                                    The forceful hands of fate.
For I shudder not at the thought of destiny,
                                    Or the inevitable in time...
Instead, I fear the eventuality
                                    of the choices that were solely, and entirely, mine.

I fear that my will may be of enough influence, alone...
That fate itself may collapse beneath decisions like my own.
                                                   Or that I, myself, might be constructing
                                                                      What destruction I will find,
                                            Among my shattered spirits and convictions,
                                                                In these depths to which I climb.

Both latter and former, contrary and congruent
Neither gas nor solid, the river moves fluid.
No end and no beginning, just water moving… swimming…
A formless former that is a powerful latter
Contradiction through symmetry and space within matter
Passively energetic as potential becomes kinetic
Transparently reflective and silently phonetic
Thermally dynamic and fluidly frantic
The waters maintain a static chaos through mathematical mechanics.

Mechanically architected and architecturally mechanic
Water seems the perfect medium for analysis of a dynamic.
Dynamic existence and persistent resistance
Statically chaotic seems the architect’s insistence.
Equilibriomatic, with addition subtractive
Empirical measures fail to analyze the passive.
What simply is, simply is… Invincible to mimicry or microcosmic reenactment.
Experimental methods seek to unify the synonymous
Attempting to prove the objective with a subjective hypothesis.
Learn from the water, let its metaphor be imminent….
For the divine externality lies not without, but within it.
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