Not one with the hive mind?
    **** em
Not one of the white kind?
    **** em
Resist?
    **** em
Express?
    **** em
Distressed?
    **** em
Racism is alive?
    **** em
They don't want to die?
    **** em

The trees burn eternally
In the woods where I stay
I sweat through the hellish daylight
And retreat into the night
The charred forest is my sanctuary

I see you glowing in the constellations
I reach out to trace the stars
like the scars down your spine,
I remember watching the embers pierce you,
tears running down my face, I catch them like leaves.

Born from the ashes of deceit
I've always existed in a cursed flame
Always melting away the wounds
Which remained hidden in combustion
A loud presence, never going quietly

Watch as the roots we came from shrivel and die,
My heart beats with the rhythm of a spinning earth,
Never stopping, always spinning,
Your voices tangles in with the breeze and branches,
And remembering you is as loud as when I stand alone.

What madness, the woods are on fire
I inhale the rage and I too am engulfed
Pieces of me become lost in cinders
Voices howl in the fiery storm
It's nonsensical, but they know
New seeds grow, resistant to the flame

The stars blaze in orange spectre
Having traded their white twinkle
In with cosmic bewildering wonder

Each a signature piece for space marvels
Capturing the dying light of eons past
Ripe for the moment in this evening art show

What violent vibrance shall we contribute
Earth and her sisters hurdling brushstrokes
For far off beings to ponder and critique

Piercing Eyes of Goldenrod.
Both bold and brilliant.
The calming center in a hurrricane
Of blue and white feathers.
A gaze which levels any ego,
That should find itself too
Important, in either size or space.
(Do you believe in omens?)
Rebirth is on the horizon,
Or so the star seekers say.
Change, the end of old ways, days.
(But I'd not think it)
The Universe likes to share whispers,
Of things to come or happenings of maybe.
There is no intent ill or otherwise,
Just the honest grievances of time.
As this God of Death, sits high upon
Stilts which bathe in still waters,
I see horror. I see despair. I see death.
That vision, those eyes, golden and
Sinister, but humble all the same.
While the winds sing of new life,
I hear the sorrowful hymns of death.
(Balance.)
There are many ways of knowing.
Magic both black and white.
Magic old as time, as new as a moment.
And if I should see the dark days ahead,
Count that a blessing, to see anything at all.

A memory is just a story altered.
Every recall differs from the one before it.
The details will fade, though the essence remains.

An orator of the mind spins the tales,
Our experiences catalogue them.

The bitter ones grow even more bitter.
The happy ones grow even happier.

But this mind of mine refused my request.
Figuring some memories are best,
left behind.

And so in my unremembering,
I ponder the splendid and mundane,
that has all been locked away.

This desert, dry as my lips, as my eyes
Which shed no tears.

This pale sheet of barren hell,
The voice of isolation.
Far, these days, from heaven.

I take a long drink, perhaps my last
Not to quench my own thirst,
Drawn from my own mouth.
But, to cure the insatiable thirst
That was my Father's.

Which has grown fiendishly in me.

But I drink, and I know
And I loathe, twisting
Myself into something mean,
Bitter and wrong.

I own this beast
I know his name
I curse my father
I devour his shame.

Though most of all, I walk forward,
Never averting horizon's gaze.

Dear night mother,
The youngling flew the coop.
Off for wild adventures, he cannot be tamed.
His elder kin spoke of magic,
The intellectual splendor of spells
Gifted yes, but not quite so as her
The painted daughter of darkness,
She colours the world in twilight.
This brings us to dusk, mantle I wear proud.
Eldest of eld, nutured by you mother,
To grow strong, wicked and well.

Those glowing eyes,
The prestege of feathers
Mother owl, bless our endeavours.
Grow old, grow wise

Bless you, oh mother,
And the nocturne skies.

Dark skies of midday madness,
The world has been painted in darkness.
Moments ago, the carnage of day,
Personification of pride, ran rampant.

Outsmarted, outwitted, outmatched

Pillars of ego fall, as all do, to their knees.
Nature is less forgiving, she has grown bitter.
She batters and bruises, lashing with rage.
But is this not her right, more so her duty.

Clouds pour their thick mist across heavens,
Day light is of a when long forgotten.
Bless this fortune, this humility.
Rise, embrace the turning of tides.

I remember the telling signs, of the forsaken path I carved for myself at such a young age, hopelessly lost.

The night terrors with bed wetting, a curiousity for the pain of others, and an undying love of flames.

Triads are sacred, often depicting tales of both good and evil, where I fall somewhere broken in between.

I drank till my belly was full, of that sweet gasoline, a hair trigger away from immolation.

See fire was soothing, watching it all burn was the beginning of my perfect crooked world.

Burning bridges, burning friends, burning anything for no real reason other than a crooked smile.

This wildfire of a tortured soul was doomed the moment I met the truth.

Only existing in the ashes, that evil had given the breathe of life.

I saw them stare, right through me, never knowing what I was.

Hating them for it, for this alienation, I will always remember.

But this is but a fragment, of a fractured soul.

Each broken shard screeching in the night for control.

I have never known peace, just the madness.

We do not even recognize ourselves anymore.

Just faceless creatures, struggling  for singularity.

We bow to our king.

His fiendish broken crown.

Flashing his fangs.

He laughs.

Armageddon.

Staring into the unwavering flame on the wick
Of a freshly lit candle, I nearly had a heart attack

Time too, decided to pause, the world grew quiet
And I grew sick in this endless moment.

Why was I so afraid to be stuck in one place,
All because of an unhealthy love for that glow

At the break, she danced across my eyes like
Orange brushtrokes on the setting sun of a canvas.

My heartbeat returns to normal, I breathe in
Letting all my fears burn away into ash.

I've written this story,
Thousands of times in my head.

But when it comes to pen and paper,
I run out of things to be said.

The bard, the mire, the sleuth
His lute, his fear, his truth.

Traveller through time,
His words chill the spine.

Oh, weaver of tales,
Hunter of lies.

Falter not to failure,
Or meet demise.

Songs will save thee,
Open all eyes to see.

Though the devil is in the details,
His chord, echoes on all that fails.

I fell hard for a stranger,
Her words, the pauses between them,
The boldness in which she spoke,
And of course the confidence in her approach.

But, woe is me, captivated fool.
Palavar was a sweet heat exchange.
Fast passion in shared interest.
The flurry of tongues refreshed,
Impressed by the company of another.

I left with only a name,
No good at this game,
Of courtship.

My spoken word often
falls short of my
blood stained paper.
Where my heart spills
emotions only felt
with fingers between pages.

Words seasoned through the years,
lost love, heartache.
The many firsts and the lasts,
I experience my ink saturated tales.
Where one lives in a mysterious clarity
not received on the vocal reenactment.

Writing comes in waves, like the coast.
Overwhelmed, drenched in feeling,
fading then; waiting to crash back
against me eroding barriers.
To keep my detached self between
one tidal eruption breaking my
total defense from all intervention.

The white banks have risen high.
The smoky powder fills the sky.

Blooms of consciousness are frozen still.
Consequences of dying on that hill.

Time slips, blurs, no longer stirs.
As thoughts dim, and pain confers.

Darkness consumes the glistening tomb.
Life gives in to the doom and gloom.

To my white allies

These messages

Are not for you

I see you struggling too

His spectral stride was not the worst of him.
His stoic face was a flawless slab of stone.
His rending claws slipped idly within his pockets.

As if extensions of his sheathed talons, on either side of the ghoul was a hound of hell.

The beasts could not look more different, save for their crimson eyes which sang of the gallows.

The worst had indeed arrived.
Each patient step glided after the other.
With no word, with no tempo, with no sign.
The dance of grimaced howls and fangs began.

The finish line is a delusion.
We run the race at our own pace.
Some walk. Some run.
Some crawl. Some quit.
Everyone dies, no one wins.

Suppose there is no other side.
Suppose you just keep going,
Until you don’t.

Is it an uphill battle?
Is it all downhill from here?

A little of both, a lot of neither.
Going, going, gone.

I wanted to go home, it felt like it had been ages
Having been on the road for so long.
But we stopped, because they insisted.
Two nameless faces within this dream.
"Let's get out, stretch our legs."
Begrudgingly I complied, approaching a bridge.
Down below a shimmering river of blue,
Ran silently along the banks we traversed.

This is the point where one thing, turns into another.
As I sifted through the steps and boulders beneath,
The world which was living around me, began to change.
Walls of high water rose, as I descended farther down.
And the two, who so boldly encouraged this adventure,
Left me alone to this vast maze of sunken wonder.

Exploring this labyrinth, brought me to a city
Fallen to the depths, hidden through dreams and fate
Along the perimeter as if bombarded stood a broken wall
It too, could not withstand the pressure of misfortune
Finding myself, at the bastion of this watery grave
I knocked on the swollen door, to find myself drowning
All the walls began to fall, as the river started to overtake me.
In a flash, gasping for air, I washed up on the quiet banks
With the Sunken City, ever existing in the memories of a dream.

Lets talk crazy.

The idea that,
Wanting equal rights and
Fighting for justice

Makes me insane
Drives me nuts

That you are backwards
And broken to percieve me
As somehow incomplete

And while I rattle on
Know that, being angry
That I watch people
That look like me
On the news getting killed
Is an appropriate response

Know that, being angry
That people who aren't like me
Get harassed, beat, ***** or killed
Is an appropriate reaponse

Think I'm outrageous or wild
Or something in between

But you want to talk crazy
Then I'm talking about you

Inhaling gales forces
Thundering footsteps
Propel whirlwinds
Twisting things left behind

Stormy eyes clouded
False visions of sunny days
Born in violent winds
Forged by a tempest of hate

Lightning strikes down
Capturing rainy day regrets
Out running hurricanes
Chasing Cloud 9

Within the eye
Silence rages
While waves thrash
Against the shores of sanity

Recalling darker days
Hopelessly falling
To the low valleys
Which shaped depression

I remember banging
On the Devils door
Pleading to end this
Undying Nightmare

Thoughts follow
The cruelest of paths
When the light ceases
To touch the soul

The sins of my father
Which long before
Had been repressed
Locked away intentionally

Became the savior
To ill misfortune
An evil to stay
Until dying days

Still whispering
That forked tongue
Persuading a final deed
For I to be, a memory

The daily struggle
Invisible to passersbys
To keep my life
And deny a desire to die

The morning fog rolls in
A new day cascades into dew drops
The mountains reminder of
An unwavering ability to impose its will
On those dwelling in the comfort below

This is a break from the cloudless
Skies which have plagued the Earth
With fiery days relentlessly.
Taking a break to enjoy the change
Misty eyes and solemn smiles
Disguise themselves in limited
Visibility

Reality comes in flashes
Waves of inaudible screams
Weightless in a body of regret

I inhale this false world
Imprisoned in a vast beyond

I know that I am trying
To awake from this criminal comatose

All I have is a key
To a lock I'll never find.

The Autumn baronies have fallen.
A culture of flames, brilliant and bold,
Against cold indifference of time.

What is a King, with a broken crown.
Vermilion leaves sail across pools of crimson.
Cobblestone stained, forsaken name.

Death divine, dancing kindred spirits,
Haunting the halls of Royal ruin.
Longer still, grows the silence.

The shrill cackle of dusk set herself
Upon the waning summer heat.

Low lit purple haze on the horizon
Painted wild in the cresent Moon smile.

Bear out the harvest, sacrifice all fortune,
Be full and join the evening on the morrow.

As the Sun exhanged his twilight gaze
Darkness drew itself into the shadows

Slave away for offering, the Night is near
As Day fades, the dark blue sky is empty.

Screams, despair is upon the fools
Lambs to the slaughter until she rises.

Discussing selves
Seperating, the who, the me and the I's
Devin, Fiendish and Abyss
Names, giving voice to the enigma
The grandeur of my existence

Each so distinct from the other
Their echoes scream insanities
To outside observer
Unknown to them, the saviors
The martyrs, dematerializing
Preserving the vessel for new life.

As I am now, as I perceive
The life that was Devin
Is only a shade, a memory.
His ghost fades in time
Burdening wounds of flesh
Reminisce of his struggle.
Consumed by the flames of darkness

Born from the ashes Abyss.
Singing songs of the soul
Revitalize broken body.
Shattered experiences now
Sewn with vendetta.
Passion, dagger tongued monster.
The frail boy, seized by demons.
To heal mortal pains.

Enter and accept the madness
Fiendish rises, the final mantle.
Successor of consciousness
Stranger to the former, fading.
I am the survivor.

Brown beetles, shiny shells
Embedded into my skin.
Burrowing, these crawlers
Find their home in my flesh.

I tear away, in a frenzy
For fear they'd make a stay
But this twisted dream
Ended, with the sunrise

Yet, much to my demise,
The itch, scratching, scuttling
Many legs, swimming among
All of me, an awful psychosis

I feel the digging, controlling.
Betrayed, I cannot trust where
My own extension , begins
And where insects end.

I dreamt of Immortality
So that in not dying
I could keep my lying
As you suckle on my truth

And this fountain pen
Doesn't flow with youth
Crooked smiles can't rebuke
My times coming to an end

Spiraling down, twisted frowns
Crawling for corruption's crown
May the ink burn the message clear
These broken words scream fear

Once upon a time,
You tossed my emotions in the shredder.
I paid you back in flesh.

Nervous,  I grasped the knife.
Pressing it against me,
Right before the puncture.
I freeze. My arm feeling the sting.
I gather myself. Deep breath.
Serated blades saw away,
Breaking skin, tearing muscle.
Then the blood drips.

We exchange wounds,
Cut for cut.
It wasn't love, just pain.

Just Words....
Just Words... They Say
They say... Just Words

These Jackals and their cackles
These Hyenas and their chortles

These words which slay with every key stroke
These words which vilify, contorting all perception
These words which stalk with dangerous fear

These words which give voice to genocide
These words which command believers
These words which personify society

These words never have been just words
Just excuses
Just reasons
Just barriers

Justifying falsehoods that words are just words, with no consequences.

Just words which are just words to you,
Just words which are a death sentence for me.

I feel like an incomplete puzzle,
Clumsy waltzing in a field of wood chippers.
I don't just fall to pieces, I shred.
I tear and bleed, most importantly I hurt.

****. I hurt.

I've never been full,
I've never seen the bigger picture.
Always out of reach, lacking perspective.

As my own world is ripped apart,
I further delve into gnashing teeth of hell.

But it's not just mine, this shared damnation,
Leaves us all to rot.

I've no clever line to sum it all up,
I've lost the words which sing of hope.

Reality begins to break, I shatter
Reality begins to break, I remain

Reality remains, I shatter
Reality remains, I remain

All of this, all at once.
Every moment, every time.

There is no constant other than the unknowing.

Devotion makes a good story.
Should an obsession take precedent
Over every other aspect of life.
Yes, that is a story worth hearing.

What such things would people,
Give up life and limb for?
What such things would people,
Cast aside all ties to achieve?

I would hear such things,
I would ponder them.
I breathe such obsessions
Heavy and addicting.

To lose everything for a singular purpose.
Compelling, it’s intoxicating.
Should I find such a cause,
I’m sure will be the death of me.

I set upon the Grotto,
where the hanged men dangled, dear.
Those desecrated corpses,
no longer held their fear.

I fashioned up an axe,
To **** the living, certainly not the dead.
See I’m taking out the demons,
and nightmares inside my head.

Through dusk and dawn again,
I hack away with glee.
Happy little madness,
please end this ****** tree.

The white sea was vast. In total contradiction,
to all reason, it seemed to dwarf the blue sky below.
Currents of clouds bubbled and spewed, while others tore away in violent serenity.
It was an ocean of heaven's dreams.
The travelers set upon the white, leaving small earth behind.
As they ascended into the clouded sea,
all thoughts of land had escaped them.
Slowly, the pepples and grains which had become markers of memories and time, faded away into some distant place.
The white sea was more than a physical place, it too was like a drug.
It stole away all reason, it lies like a brilliant poison in the body, hidden and lethal.
It was ecstacy and it was death,
but above all else it was beautiful.

If you can't beat them, join them.
That system that beats you down
Pick a side, have a good ride
Finish it to the end.

Hasn't worked out too well.
What to do? What to do?

If you can't beat them, become them.
That power of the opressor
Use it, abuse it, live large
Crack that whip.

Hasn't worked out to well.
What to do? What to do?

If you can't beat them, change them.
Sweet knowledge and empathy
Change a heart, make a friend
Seek out humanity.

Hasn't worked out to well.
What to do? What to do?

Signs say stress.
I say the End of the World.

A mental break
Or a fractured world.

The walls of my mind tremor
The world falls apart at the fringe.

Acute stress, prolonged stress.
Acute suffering, prolonged suffering.

Good lord, its the end.
Oh God, the end of times.

I see hints, hidden in plain sight.
This diseased world, is apocalypse bound.

Yet they'll say I'm not mentally sound.
But the world dangles on a string.

I came to this world,
             As a twisted seed.

Drifting along in a realm which,
             Did not belong to me.

But these roots have sprouted,
              Now suckling on lies

A foundation built on malnutrition,
               And a trunk full of wickedness

To be ingrained is a nightmare,
                This forest is for the ******.

These branches reach for home,
                But cannot escape the canopy.

Underneath the bark of the horrific crown
                 None are surprised to see how hollow...



                                      ....I have become.

As he walked about the world, it fell to shambles around him.

Buildings crumbled, the sky fell, the ground tremored beneath his feet.

He'd rub his temples, blink his eyes, and scream within his mind.

Then it would all reform, destruction undone before his eyes.

He'd walk about his world again and it would all fall to shambles.

Another ode to the storm
Heavier now in July's departure

Raindrops bombard the pavement
Swelling into deep puddles
Quenching the thirst of the blacktop
Dying in the summer heat

Its become mesmerizing, the rains descent
The harder it hits, the freer I become
I will myself to become lost in it
To let nature's chorus touch me

Storms bring out my desire to be cleansed
Claps of thunder parade into far reaches
Rattling the sediment of unkind thoughts
Buried from the drought of time

The goddess of calamity's healing lyric
Rhythmic vibes of transparency
Washing away muddied hearts
Embracing whatever is to come.

I like to think myself a composer
With a twisted tongue and a tired hand
Words ebb and flow
Singing whichever chord
Strikes the moment

The talent and marvel
Lies within a word's cryptology
Poetry is the art of directing
To string sounds along
Invoking a provoking resonance

Shattering mental barriers
Where fleeting thoughts should roam.

Fleshing holding it together
The void grows, emptiness
Flames burn violent in the human engine
Running on fumes, full steam ahead.

Numb to the senses.
Fissures painted across broken body.
Powerful negative energies seep through
Fueling the harsh reality.
With every strike, hatred explodes
Begging now for a quick finish.

There is no picking up the pieces
Shattered glass self reveals
The mirrored ill intentions.
Saturated in darkness
Breathing the heavy poisons
Eyes awaken, sights restored.

Seeing clearly again,
Evolving, to perfected form.
The key in misery, mastered in solitude.

My ears bleed
This ******* noise
Eardrums bursting
While I beg
For Silence

It creeps and crawls
Each wave crashing
Against my last nerve
Pushed over the edge
Diving head first
Into oblivion.

I wish I could go Supernova
To explode
And burn up this crippling anxiety
The chest pumping
Immobilizing pressure
Weighing me down

Do I write Poems?
Or do I plagarize his mind.

Do I press a jagged pen
Williningly into his tortured flesh?

Do I own these words?
Are they on lease from his screams?

Do I lock the door?
With his pounding to be freed?

My body, my mind
If you don't like it get out

Your words are nightmares
I suppose we both are prisoners

Been feelin dead
Little pieces of light
Fade everday, I think
That I'll be dying
By my own hand
Or by another
All this hate taking aim
I painted myself the target
Speaking for the voiceless
The oppressed, who are mocked
Too sensitive, cry babies, get over it
Run some dirt in those wounds...
Ahh but to be one of us, surely you
Could never understand. With egos so
Fragile, you fall apart when privleges
You so firmly deny are threated.
I'm not long for this place, this space
This mental state, this cultural
Holocaust. I'll see my way out,
Thats a guarantee.

Belief is dangerous
It envelops the I into WE
Complicated by the fact
That every believer believes
They believe in the truth
With no one willing to back down
Wars are waged on the idea of God
Insidious as they are, these battles
Take on many forms, with body counts
That remain the same. Annihilation
In exchange for Assimilation
And a peace that cannot be.
For if my God is right
Then yours is wrong.

Few whisper in the air
On the outskirts of borders and labels
But are forgotten in the scribes of time
This dangerous and vindictive game
For which all believers are to blame

The dead weep in irony
At the hypocrisy of belief
In which thoughts and scripture
Are far more the same
But are unyielding in bloodshed

As the writer wore away page after page,
a swelling of maddening frustration grew.
The parchment soaked in the dark ink,
and pockets of hell seeped through each word.
There is desperate power in written verse;
They know this, yet the pen rages onward.
The writer pays this debt in full,
in flesh and blood, as one does.
Stories must be told, the price is high,
but silence cost ever more.

She's inbetween the tattered cloak of clouds
On her pedastool, breaking necks on high
Full, with piercing white gaze she calls to me
The night sky bends, her light is will
As the smokey valleys of obscurities
Evaporate into thin memories of yesterday
Silent now, penciling away her secrets.

The rifts have opened once again,
Their darkness, thin and heavy.
Pouring malicious, defeating thoughts.
Self-doubt, hopelessness, it is agony.

It has been months, what seemed like eons,
Since such dark matters poisoned my mind.
Yet, a single word was all it took to open a wound.
"Trauma", the irony of a word as a trigger.
It ignites the sky of thought, in an absence of light.

The delirium begins, mania rises.
Shield and sword to the gravity of sadness.