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 Aug 2015
Nathan Squiers
I hear the trickle of fickle murmurs as they tickle past my ear,
Their intent is ill, but to what extent should I indulge such a thrill?
Fickle tickle, still the clock's tick-tick-tick 'til time stands still,
Leave it all behind me, but never stop lest it catch me in the rear.

I'm here to remind you there's more than just time out there to ****.
You strive to stay alive; others die--what's left for them to fear?
They're escaping all the hassle you're then left to commandeer,
So can you really celebrate when there's chaos for you still?

The fickle murmurs of their vocals squirm about my ears,
They tickle--sure--but nothing greater than a trickle 'cross the gills.
All their malice could fill a chalice (but no room for fuss or frills).
So while the dead are free I'll trickle on as a tickle in your ear.
Something that started off as playing with sounds that quickly became something more preachy than I was expecting. C'est la vie, right?

Enjoy ^_^
 Aug 2014
Nathan Squiers
It's like a holy war
When the masses march upon me.
The whole scene leaves me sore--
A hole seen by those who soar--
And, broken and bloodied,
I grin up at them and ask for more.

It's like a holy war,
And its when those holy *******--
A horde, a mass, of masochistic masters--
Hone on me like a holy task, there's
No greater sight for my eyes to see.
When they're still so certain;
Certain that the unholy one is me.

Twasn't me that drew this curtain,
And I ain't the one that's hurtin',
When they make their deals with devils.
See, it isn't standing up to rebels
When your convictions tremble;
It's your morals that need sortin'.

In this war of a devils against devil,
It won't be the youngbloods left to revel.

Come at me with your holy war--
I've fought before and demanded more--
But you'll come to find that what's in store
Will be far greater than what you're aiming for.

I don't see why you can't admit it:
That you've become demons, just like I did.
Yes, there's a darkness within me,
But, as the villain you want to see,
I'm afraid that I just can't take credit.
When the greatest sin that I've committed,
Was shedding light on all that you all did.
Been a while since I busted out anything new, so I figured I'd hit the scene with a bang (hello again, HelloPoetry <3 ). I've been writing a lot lately, so a lot of the rhythm here is inspired by some of my favorite J-rock & Visual Kei bands (the music that makes up my writing playlist) as well as the lyrical flow of rap/hip-hop (a genre I've found myself increasingly drawn to lately for whatever reason (I never fight these things  lol).

As is the case a lot of the time, this is hardly illustrating JUST a personal struggle, but offering some support to so many others who face a similar struggle of their own. To those in such a situation, this poem is for you, and let me remind you that you not only have strength in numbers, but your own untapped strength, as well.

I find myself--either for my religious or moral/ethical views or any other reason that people see fit--often targeted by a person or persons who see fit to villainize me, and I find myself growing suspicious that the only reason for this is so they can feel like the heroes when they take me down.
Sadly for them, I've yet to fall, and I wish the same strength and track record to those out there facing the same situation.
 Jun 2014
Nathan Squiers
The air was thick with rancid hate as we squared off in the mist of night.
There was no words--no grunts nor groans--that oozed past sneering
lips. It was a rustic sort of torture; the time slithering between you
and I, as we each came to grips that only one could anticipate the
dawn. Oil stained the rain-soaked way; the alley shimmered in
the moon. I couldn't recall what had brought us there; what
ill-will we shared. And though your eyes shone with scorn,
I swear you felt the same. It was then the hatred started
rolling like a current 'cross my back; as though the
energy inside of me was fighting to break free.
I watched with eyes uncaring as the glass
began to break, and scattered bits of this
and that began to whip about! You had
never known me well enough to truly
know what lurked within, and as
your startled eyes betrayed your
fear I knew that I'd already won.
So much viscous agony--such a
glorious defeat--a body left in
ruin. I stared at what I had
done, awash in a morbid
optimism, and I saw the
shards of glass twinkle
under a cracked light.
Consumed by the
sight, I saw you
sink into a sky
of oil and filth
and eternal
blackness.
Your
own  
urban
starlight.
I was inspired by some busted beer bottles that sparkled on the side of the street like stars when I was driving one night. The irony of a beautiful night sky replicated in such a violent way got me to thinking of how I, myself, could create such a replication while paying homage to the inspiration. Because of the death theme, I wanted to start with a very broad, wordy "life" and slowly dwindle it away. Submitted for your approval, ladies and gentlemen, I give you "Urban Starlight."
 May 2014
Nathan Squiers
The world was stunned as the a Dark One fell,
His legacy blooming like a black-petaled rose.
The thorns pierced through the eyes of man,
And the Devil cried with me.

He showed the frozen skin of morals--
With gaping pride and ******* strength--
Adorned and caressed by machinery.
And the Devil cried with me.

There was babies in the barrel,
And an alter upon the horns.
******* cries far-and-wide.
And the Devil cried with me.

Harmonics perching on twisted limbs,
And darkness bursting from our chests,
Our greatest nightmares echo His sinister sight...
And the Devil cries with us.
I was truly crushed to hear of the recent passing of one of my favorite artists, H.R. Giger. Though this is a belated homage to the man that brought us the creatures from the Alien movies and KoRn's mic stand (just to name his most recognized work), I felt the need to offer something up in his honor. I didn't want to take this too literal out of respect for the surrealism the man inspired, but, at the same time, credit was most certainly do.

RIP, Giger. Your legacy will rage eternal.
 Apr 2014
Nathan Squiers
Two lips met in the forest,
Sighing South and heaving North.
They prayed with words unspoken.
Drinking in the dried tears of sated loneliness;
Chewing 'pon the swelled pride of ancient lusts.

An ethereal plume drives the dew-soaked petals closer,
Until neither root nor stem can discern their place.

Two lips met in the meadow,
Singing East and chanting West.
They pursed with anxious anticipation,
And parted with baited excitement,
While the ghosts of lovers surfed upon their hums.

Two lips.
Are as one.

— The End —