There was fireworks outside the window, the sky looked very pretty in those tapestry colors, what a joyous sight

But that was almost a cruel joke for the moment, as we just sat in silence in this room

The uncertainty of what would progress was a spiders nest in my throat

More echoes from the fireworks was the only sound in that room, it was comforting in a way

Scared for them to disappear, then the silence would just return

Two people, silent, unsure

Uncertain

I want to see this garden flourish among these twisted days, to see the roses of white glow so sweetly in the moonlight

To look at the tulips glow when the sun rises among the pines, to see their radiant shades glow like the strains in the galaxies

To see the sunflowers rise to the highest gods, to grasp the stars and encumber them among their seeds

I wish to see this flourish, even with the flames coming close

I know the broken glass blew across my aching skull, it was a whirlwind of mayhem and sorrow

As the seeping wounds of my former pasts, came to infection among this crystal skins

The withered limbs began to howl with a sickening moan, as there rotted flesh began to form my mnds eye

As the saw toothed beast ate its way into my bones, I watched above as the stars danced in wonder

With screams of horror across my ears, as burrowing little creatures seeped into my blood

I looked at a silver heron, taking flight with such beautiful grace

Such a fragile moment in time we are, too much caught up in things too below the threshold of reason

We each have a knife to our throats waiting to cut, so we might as well try to be happy

It’s nearly impossible, like seeing the shadows of the fox in a foggy forest

But try we must, and give that knife a bite from our teeth, and spit at its holder

Under all the rubble, does the light still flicker from the gas lamp
A remnant of hope, that lays in the shatters of once standing prides
All that screams, is now silenced by the ash coming from the destruction
But the gas lamp still remains, waving its flag of war in bright orange and yellow

Inside the skull, of the forgotten oak

Do I sit calmingly, and listen to its ghosts

For they talk, of most wonderful tales

And the winter winds, construct the tone

I’ve made
My legs walk
Across this cave
Full of broken wine glass

The stalagmites dripping vermouth
My eyes stinging with poison
Refracted from the shining, glistening slugs
Who sing me morbid harmonic hymns

Words of my demise
My death
Echo in a crescendo
And I can only walk

The old granite house is painted with cold dreary rain, how the years have chipped away at the youth of it

But it still holds beauty, the gracious old ruin that still stands with a resilience, how it seems to speak faded wisdoms

As the rain sings its lullaby to this old home, the thunder chimes with a melody to accompany the rain

Though it seems that it is at its end, the fear of its demise never permeates, only a small sense of fractured joy seeps through to the soul

grey skies sing hymnals of the morning arisen
the faint sounds of the crows caw, within the limbs of the pine titan

each drop of the rain elixir, painting across the window pane
washing away the yesterday full of dread and sorrow

if only the skies could open and take me away, from the world of chaos i am chained to

my flesh is tearing away from my bones, and my mind is telling me my heart chambers

can’t keep yearning anymore, and the grey skies are the background static

What we face in our lives, is the mistakes we are too afraid to acknowledge

The hanging moss of our weeping limbs, hanging in bitter contempt of itself

That wishes to find salvation from within, but only sees an abyss

Here is our true tragedy, that keeps our skin grey with the thought of loss

Over head there is bombers, they shake the houses with their roar
There is an end coming soon, one of beautiful madness
The sun is blocked out, and the world becomes dark
And the candlelight, whispers a song, for the coming hellfire

Here is the world, under a bleeding moon, silver as the demons songs of the bamboo groves

It sings and dances the eons away, blissfully ignorant to the horrors that happen around

It has the mind of a child, it sees the world with the sun as a beacon of hope, but it only becons chaos

Here is the world, as a yawning dog in the eves of summer, awareness thin to the quagmire spinning eternally

You are such a sweet soul, that has been born into a world of vileness and cruelty

You have a smile that is Christ like, you have the voice of a bird song, beautiful to listen and cherish

You have been cut and bruised, from the words of those that wish to hurt the joy you have

You are strong, you have endured, and you have strived

You never needed anyone to give you help, because inside you are a warrior

You are as shy as the fox in the forest, timid in your appearance, you sit in fields of daisies

But you are strong in your ways, you are stone, you are a rock

You are careless in your actions, you are as free as the wind that blows against the tops of these pines

But you are strong, you have endured the judgement of others from your mistakes, you have proven you are marble, and that you shape your own life

You are unsure, you are confused, and that is okay, for you are still strong

You are young, you still hold to the warm joy of your youth, you still believe in innocence, and the morality of fairy tales

But you are strong, you are naive, but you have a heart of pure gold, warm and maginificent as the sun

You are fat, you’ve been ridiculed for your looks as young as you could walk, you have endured everything tooth and nail

But you are strong, you are the towering oak tree, you are the symbol of strength, you carry radiant beauty in your limbs

You are different, you do not fit the mold of this society, you have been scorned for going against what is deemed as morally right

But you are strong, you are the obelisk of resilenice, you spit blood and defy the lashes that people wish to give you, for you are strength

You are poor, you’ve had to work the fields as long as you can remember, and you’ve faced cruelty from it

But you are amazing, you are strong, you are a sunflower growing among wheat

You are such a sweet soul, that has been born into a world of vileness and cruelty

You are simply, amazing

The eroded frames of this abandoned home, speak of a time that was once better

The pain in its voice, is sorrowfully apparent, the pain it feels creaks among the window panes

I asked why it seemed to feel this way, it spoke to me and said it was alone in its ways

The trees had begun to strangle their roots among its edges, the wildflowers set their camps on its staircases

The finches set their nests on its faded yellow window stills, the fox making a den from the basment

I sat with the rain pouring down, under the porch roof did I listen to its somber tales

In its decay I saw a dark beauty, a damaged purity that was tranquil in the erosion

The streets are being laced with kerosene, men with limbs made of matches
Begin to walk in a march
The curtains are becoming lighter, ashes to the wind
The cries of those unaware, become a song to the ether
Hands are held tighter, kisses become more sincere
Eyes become more forward, words more clear
The sky is more orange, like a Monet painting
Beautiful, such a sight to admire
As giants of ash topple the buildings
Love becomes more real, more scarce
As lives become lost
The gutters become full
With the breath of lovers
A hush in the chaos

I tried to drink them away, but whiskey only made them stronger
I tried to sleep them away, but my sores I could not take in bed
They whisper to me in my darkest of dreams
Come
Join
We
Are
You
We have
Always
Been
You
I scream at my walls, my sweat as cold as the tips of my fingers
But then you grasp my hand, and make my fingertips feel warmer
You wipe away the Artic from my brow, and hold me close in your warmth
You say that it is only a dream, but you know it is hard for me
So you merely hold me close, and say that sorrow is a true and cruel thing
But that I am not a being of sorrow, I am a being of love
And that I will always have your love, to mend the sorrows in my soul
You take my hand, and lace it with yours
And say, this is love, and I will be it for you

Here is the pit

Where the bodies are stacked

From the endless battles

Son’s and daughters sent to the earth

No savior, no redeemer

Only the grasp of the earth

How cruelty and ignorance, permeates through the threads of humanity

The wicked and vile are more apparent than they seem, we just chose to say they aren’t there

This is the way of our modern age, to look at the abyss, and to live in the protected bliss

Then to acknowlegde the dark truth

You think this is a heart of light, you smile while the blood of the innocent paint the ground, were the bodies lay

It is a heart of darkness, a heart of hatred, it beats in the shell of human greed and ignorance

The sun always shines, and there is always a new dawn, but those that are dead won’t ever see one again

It is never easy to take the truth, to take the stark reality of darkness, but joy is not a simple remedy to it

For it is a wound that will fester, and that will hurt, but it must be so to keep the mind aware

For things are not alright, this machine is bleeding to death, and we are trapped inside of it

This heart of hatred is a immortal beast, it always has been around since humans made God

We will never see change, for we deny that there is a problem

We will never see justice, for we believe it is truly blind

Progress is a philosophy that shines in the hands of the passionate, but is strangled by the hands of the ignorant

We will see more sorrow, more death, more tears

And yet we will do nothing, for we are devoid of sympathy and human decency

We have become what Christ didn’t die for, we are merely beasts of hedonism and pain

In the wake of the dogwoods death
Does the woods around mourn in whispered sobs
For it was the catalyst of the point
To where this empire of green
Could look upon to gain the wisdom of peace
Now that the dog wood lay rotted and scattered
On the ground of dead leaves and fox trails
Does the forest tremble in fear
For the chaos to come

A body exhausted, full of dead bodies of former selves
Sunken blackened eyes, deep wrinkles in the forhead
Hands that shake and hum, with no true stop
A voice that is weak, fatigued at the mere action of speaking

It is a trial of pain, that it has to go through
No sense of peace or content, only dread and struggle
Wandering aimlessly in a fog
With no hope of finding direction

Is this the fate we all share?
This connective tissue of the human condition
All that we are born to do, is simply exist
With no real hope or happiness

I do not wish to believe that to be so
But, as these days grow longer
And my will loses more and more petals
I am unsure that I can see the better angels

it’s hard to find purpose, in the ocean of anxiety and ibuprofen pm

an existential crisis takes a break in Wednesday while my constituents drown it in social media

my worth is measured by how many circles of darkness are around my eyes

my laziness at my bruised knees and calloused hands always angers the old

i am stuck in between the world of self sabotage and self realization

but that won’t be cause for concern, one more drink should wash those cuts away

Stuck in the membrane of the hollow limbs, inside this dead giant do I stay dormant

It was once a symbol of great honor, standing tall to the ideals of more pure angels

But now it lays in waste, the dead giant that now slumbers in the sin of it’s ignorant awareness

It sleeps in regret, and now only dreams in sorrow and what could have been

There’s no absolutes in this world, people have inherent good and bad, it’s something that is somehow in the threads of our humanity

We all commit wrong acts, sins, pains, whatever you wish to call it

It’s what you choose that makes your definition, and it seems our modern era has chosen bad

I am in a fog, there is a fog over this world

I walk in this fog, seeing if my steps will take me to the shore, to see the ocean

I can’t see clearly, but I can see

And sometimes that’s all that can be given

But I see the flowers on the ground, the faded colors of beauty

I know there is beauty in this world, even if the chosen course has been greed, ignorance, and evil

One day the sun will rise again, and it will be a different kind of sun

Not one of apathy, but one of hope

One of future, bright and clear

How I am walking with no radials, latched with leeches and gasping with blood filled lungs

Each act more desperate then the first, and tears become salt mines to the earth

I am certain the buzzards sing me melodies, they are the only true friends I’ve ever had

My burial will be the apex of cosmic certainty, the reaffirmation of the truths of astral fate

That we are all specs of matter floating in an abyss, filled with such beautiful stars and constellations

I awoke one morning to see the rain pouring softly, a mist against my window

I looked outside and not a sound to be heard, the birds were not conducting their melodies, the wind not writing its poems among the trees

Every soul seemed to be gone, I looked to my mailbox and not a single letter, I looked to my friends and none would answer

The same for my parents, and all my mutuals, it seems I was all alone

Did I do something wrong to have caused this rapture? The silence was deafening to my mind

I’m not sure what has caused all of this, but I guess I’ve become king of lonliness, and I sit and look at my empty kingdom

The king of sorrow

I sit on a bench made of bird wings

WIth a crown made of ***** leaves

I call out to a land, that cares not for me

Maybe there is something, wrong with my rule

Why there is so much loneliness, I don’t know

I’ll sit on this bench, and shed tears all the day

King sorrow, I’ll die and lay

How much longer can this last?      Days of pleasure and cheap instant noodles


No hope in the progress of the mind
Only the self satisfaction of mental hubris and the pedantic hedonism that

reigns supreme
                                                   Can this last any longer?
I don’t see light in this life
As I sit in the home of my mother and father, wondering what
could have been

Maybe there isn’t peace,    

              and life is the illusion of the fantasy we create
How could this go on any longer?


Am I still seen as human?                Or just the pawns of the same hedonistic indulgences

In the summer, all those lies told take flight in the gleaming sky, soaring like dreams of better innocence

But when the winter comes, those lies roost in the trees, and the eyes see them

In that harsh chill, does the still honesty bring back those lies, and the truth roosts right next to your window

We lost ourselves a long time ago

What stands isn’t bone and flesh, no pulse, no feeling

Something very jaded, apathetic, bitter

Maybe it was always that way

And those hurricane songs washed the paint away

To reveal the cracks that were always present

And when another body lies dead in the locust’s pit

Will walk over it, like it never was anything

But a body

Loneliness isn’t the loathing of sorrows or grief, it isn’t the echoes of your better memories

It’s not the inflicting harm of a drunken haze, or the black puff of a bent cigarette

Not the tears that befall the thinking past, nor the shattered glass of your broken nights

It’s the silence in the room, the buzzing emptiness that fills your mind, and seems to scream when nothing is sounding

It makes the soul more longing, and the tears more hollow

The soft piano tears of a bar, the somber lights dancing amongst dark suits and teary hands
The presence of loneliness, the cusp of joy; always lingering on the neon angels
How so many are lost, yet are in the same place
How they are so alone, yet they are around one another

The restrooms a bleak smile, as someone goes to approach
Hands held in prayer, on tables of wood as old as the crucifix of Christ
As the evening battles the sun, to smother it into the abyss
Bodies with heat, yet no one seems to be living

And if lord knows best, that are lives are chaotic
Then this place is the calm in the storm
But not a peaceful calm, an encumbering calm
Where the screams stop, but the echoes still ring loudly

With lights dim as assassinated blood, the fog of confusion and doubt
Fills the space with a ghost, that haunts all within it
But lord knows, that wishes want to be granted
That shooting stars want to be real

Steeped in the rains, brittle as the bones of devastated leeches

There’s a sounding cry, that echoes a command, with ferocity and somber

With unsure faith in the drowning fields, it grows louder with each beating pulse

I’m a husk of anxiety and stress, my bones made of Celexa, my mind of insecurity

My eyes are made of black dyes, my teeth of financial dread
I rise each day with a curve in my spine, and weight upon my feet

But I am here, still going

I may be exhausted, but I’m still going

My will made of coal, always burning, never surrendering

I breathe sarin, and exhale carbon monoxide

But I’m still going

In the confusion of our ****** escapades, was there any true connection?
Maybe there was, and I wasn’t looking hard enough into your eyes
Those sticky fumblings seemed to be my only thought
I’m starting to think that’s all I wanted, and in those moments I was wrong
A carnal monster I was, filled with my hedonistic whims
And now those memories don’t give me pleasure
They fill my stomach with sickness, such regret that burns
Madness it seems to be, to worry about something so futile
But I think you were trying to love me, and I was just trying to satisfy cravings
You weren’t a person to me in those moments, you were just a meal in my gluttony
And now here I am at bars, repeating my process of hunting
For I am man, the primal beast of the blackened crust
Stuck inside the dreams of ignorance, inside a locked room
And I have the key

I stand in a bathtub of oil
I light a match, in slow action
And set it on fire
I go to sit down
And bathe in the flames
To cleanse myself
Of my pasts and regrets
For maybe if I survive
The skin of my former selves
Will have burned off
And I will be something new

Staring into that foggy curtain
That drapes across the forest window
Hiding all the creatures in cloaks
Blurring all the paths with annoyance
So you must walk as a stranger
In a land made of twilight shadows
With you eyes focused to the ground
Your hands gripping at themselves
Waiting for the surprise to strike
And cut your throat in a shower of maroon
But all the while you must remanin stoic
Lest you find yourself no longer on a path
But in a maze

Staring into that foggy curtain
That drapes across the forest window
Hiding all the creatures in cloaks
Blurring all the paths with annoyance
So you must walk as a stranger
In a land made of twilight shadows
With you eyes focused to the ground
Your hands gripping at themselves
Waiting for the surprise to strike
And cut your throat in a shower of maroon
But all the while you must remanin stoic
Lest you find yourself no longer on a path
But in a maze

We attack the tender hearted, and pretend we hold their values like our own

The honesty is, we like to pretend we are good people, and wear that mask to judge

We are not a generous, commpasionate society

We are not this glistening humanity

We are a dark primordial sludge, that still values our reptilian hedonistic desires

Over what is right

That is always how it has been

I am the messenger of exhuastive sighs, the wondering bard of the tooling mind

Closely I thread my skin, into the sanity of a self that never has pulsed electric movements

I am the ghost of a present, that was never real

Only a past, wearing a suit of terrocata

We ate these midnight hearts, hoping that we could stop the sun from rising

So that we may stay in the night forever, we wanted this evening to be a century, a universe that expands infinitely

But our denial was ever present, just like the moonlight on the rain soaked asphalt

Our night was not infinite, it was just a moment, a moment that would be like any other moment

In a blink we had smiles, the next one we were watching the rain, the next one we saw the sun peering over the pines

I know melancholy isn’t always nice, but it was better than sadness for us

Reach to the mist

That lingers in the air

Grasp it softly

And let it carry you

Those that can remain true and pure

In the face of grey streaked knife wounds

Inflicted by the malignant invisible hand of this society

Are saints in their own honor