In the mirror of my spirals,
hazel perceptions translate
candid reflections of flesh
once mistaken for wood,
carvings of a surrendered soul,
a spirit left less than whole,
of when depression gladly paid
its miserable ******* toll.

Dark jagged lines imprinted
across skin once pure,
stigmas of the past
reminding me that storms
can always be darker,

but you know, they can
always be clearer, too.

Medicinal steel awaits
the shadows of history,
eager for my touch,
for the thrill of the slice;
distraction through mutilation:
humanity’s haunted vice,

wherein I am not looking
to ease the pain,
but to intensify,
to charge an overload
on my overworked brain.

Reflecting reflections reflected,
I reflect on the repercussions
of thoughts lost too deep
within its own mind.

Lightning flashes,
only it’s not from the sky,
it’s from the hands
that break your fall,
the hands you use to crawl;
I saw them in your grip,
cellular migraines
surrounding me in the pit,
flashing out of control
like a industrial seizure on a roll,
standing perfectly still,
row after mindless row
like a haven of brain-sizzled zombies
recording priceless moments
to enjoy at a later time,
contaminated by a screen
pixelating a musical dream,
and that’s exactly how I felt
in the center of the attraction,
cord after lyric after cord
ruined by modern distraction,
and despite the following talent
being the pretty reckless,
it was still pretty obvious
we’d remain being
the pretty restful.

I am the vulture,
the feathered creature,
the afterlife deviant
with an abyssal glow
fading in my aged eyes,
searching for opportunity to rise
as I slice through pessimistic skies.

I am the claws that feast
on those who decompose.
I scavenge all that is left,
the bits no one cared to miss.

I am the devourer
of purgatorial descent,
the digestive system
of a life needlessly spent.
So don’t go asking yourself
where it all went when you’re
building up dust on your favorite shelf.

See, the webs are your mind
and that spider represents time,
and sooner than later it’s gonna die,
but don’t you fear, for I’ll always be here
plunging through the wicked air
ready to scoop up all that remains,
which accounts for a carcass
that isn’t worth a grain
and a family of flies
following you to the grave.

This is you and this is me,
and in the end delusion cries
as it realizes there’s only one destiny;
one final truth for your precious lies,
an honest ending of karma pecking out your eyes.

Hey, what are you doing?
Don’t tell me, though.
I honestly don’t care,
just thought I’d ask,
wearing my Himalayan mask.

Eleven at night on a Tuesday;
arrow pierced my nose,
leaking dusted snot,
head a drowsy mass,
a dizzy, unfathomable knot
beckoning me into a slumber,

yet I feel this tranquil
half-conscious state
as I hear the ever dear
lonesome crowded west,
all the while ******* in
the crust of plate tectonics,
that hypnotic spell
of the devoted neurotic,

and in a few
the lights will finally perish
and my Styrofoam boots
will once again
walk on ice.

Comfort in flying,
entwined, we’re soaring
through a sky worth exploring,
embraced and forming
a snow angel in the clouds of tomorrow;
solitary in shape, universal in spirit.

Acceptance in dying
as long as your hand’s in mine,
and my lips are on yours
and we continue beating
from the same drum
even ever after.

Iniquity trampled
by the omniscient shadows
our rising crescents cast
glowing in the moonlight
like two vermillion balloons
sprouted from the same string
coated with an invincible shell
impenetrable by even the sharpest blade.

And we are sinking deeper
into this everlasting night
where the sun never rises
and we never care,
for your breath
warms my soul
and my soul
soothes your heart
and your heart
inhaled into mine
keeps us immortal
‘til the end of time

                                                      

                                                          and beyond.

Will you take my hand, follow me
Into this unknown land?
Live together in absolute bliss?
Life with you: the only way to exist

Your smile brightens my day
Obsession’s swept me away
Under this vermillion moon

My heart’s caught in your harpoon
And it’s dragging me willingly
Racing along your loving beat
Rejoicing in your arms, I know
You make me fully complete

Maximum love always for you, shall this
Everlasting pleasure prevail true?

It’s been said before
and it’ll be said again
and again, as long
as we are allowed
to walk this earth,
and I’ll say it now,
just as you’ll say it tomorrow:
it is a wicked world
we live in,

and it is not
going to change.

Generally, we like
to think of ourselves
as a good person,
sometimes we are right
and sometimes we are
way off.

Save those moments
of natural kindness
deep in your memory box,
because those events
are perhaps the rarest occasions
you’ll ever stumble upon,

but don’t forget
the cruel intentions
that succumb the majority.
Keep it further from memory
and closer to instinct,
for it is a necessity
of survival
in a land
where evil
rules all.

And when you look
in the mirror,
into the leak
of your subconscious,
and you see the malice veins
strangling goodwill,
the rancid flesh
rotting your soul,
the black eyes that darken
with each action
of a corrupt fate,
you can ask yourself
what went wrong
all you want,
but you already know
the answer:
it’s buried deep
under six feet of dirt
with the rest of your corpses,
and the farther you search,
the blinder you become.

So you can look all you want,
but it isn’t going to prevent
another innocent casualty,
nor is anyone going to forgive
the pleads of pure monstrosity.

Face it: you should have
leaped off the deck
before the ship even sunk.