It seems forever and a time ago.
Since I felt, this sinister darkness
Haunt my bones, insidiously ethereal.
Outgrown, and overshadowed but,
Only temporary was the night.

In a search for self, after voiceless screams
Bled their emptiness into any word muttered.
Perhaps, I was fooled into the harmony
That this evil muse had whispered.
Her hast soul shattering tune.

Forewarned in foreshadows, nightmare's gleam.
The stability of my present, was the demise
Of my former. And I fade into the black.
A pale silhouette in the story of character
Marionette to this mutineer.

I wish to write of softer things
Hands shake, hate in my veins.
Pen pressed to paper,
Red ink, scribbling empty words

Repeating, repeating, repeating
Hate, hate, hate

Heart weighed by tons
Baggage, carried, gathered, found
Books scattered across the floor
Unfinished, left open.

Struggling, I cannot
Bring myself to... move on
Close them, my library
Clean house, write a new story.

One day, these words,
Will find meaning, create hope.
Cleanse the monster, the one
Torturing  my restless soul.

There will be a time when you need me,
But I'll already be gone.

Flesh may be a measure of mortality,
However these words cut deep.

They carve themselves into infinity,
Scribing the rise, ****** and fall.

Each piece is a violent declaration,
Against the tides of hate.

While I could not wade in the water,
The storm of truth rains down.

Falling victim to fate and telling times,
All exits are crafted by these hands.

My heart of darkness grows
Screaming silently into
A searing white noise
Deafening any comprehension.

It envelops my chest
Pouring itself, washing over
Climbing and crawling
Weaving its way, ticking violently.
Scrapping at my bones
Begging for the light of those
Good natured innocent folk.

Waiting to reel them in
Infecting them with hope
Leaving only emptiness and blind hatred.

Spreading sinister vibes to new host
The thirsty for fresh blood
Never quite quenched.
I hunger for sugar smiled
Still beating hearts of those
Yet to suffer my hate.

I wrote a symphony once
in the dying light of my mind.
It was beautiful,
brought tears to my eyes.

The profoundness led me through corridors,
there I was lost in madness.
Enveloped in my experience
onward I traveled.

Tearing at my flesh, talons pierce me.
Darkness, my friend, always there
destroying mind and body.
Tainting my soul, its poison,
Slithers through my veins.

Halted at the edge of my journey
This evil holds my heart hostage
grasping harder and harder
light is clear, yet I am stone.

Pride destroyed, beaten
by fiendish devotions.
Door closes, pain paralyzes.
My humanity shatters like glass
Leaving reflections behind permanently.

We shared stories as the hours passed by.
Each secret detail, leading to more intimate detail.
Hearing each others mistakes, failures, blunders..
It is an open invitation to share in the humility of the human condition.
We live within the tales of another, carefully refitting the pieces of each other.
So far from the picture we once held, but ever better, imperfect even.
The refined inadequacy is all the truth we ever needed.
For who would we be without them.

She is my song
That sweet melody
Always ringing between my ears
I haven't the fantiest clue
Of the words that her smile sings

She is the true verse
Sending shivers down my spine
With honesty dancing as I'm mesmerised

She is the harmonic tune
Syncompating heartbeats to my best days
Hopscotch run around, I embrace the bliss

She is the rainy day playlist
Overwhelmed and under fire
Sit back, relax, listen, I've got my fix

Pour the painted words onto a canvas of self.
Let them overflow in a cringing nightmare.

Allow the darkness to be the backdrop of pain
Fill foreground with the light of life.

Feather the details of first love,
Between the fine grains of heartbreak.

May this portrait of vibrant existence,
Be all the suffering and joy it is meant to be.

In the valleys of mediocrity, complacency,
Cultivate brushstrokes of brilliance and wonder.  

The shades of blue sorrow, the reds of rage.
The green envies, the white serenity.

All of it, all together, the beauty of togetherness.
The good, the bad, and every bit of it you.

I wash my demons down with the local brews

Looking out the window panes of dreary nights and days of rain.

A guy and his guitar sing soft beats and sets the evening mood.

His fingers strum the delicate strings, as the music calls to me.

The second round comes and I'm in despair,

As the words that flow leave me gasping for air

The truth in a strangers tune, run down into each stroke of my pen

Here I go again, setting the nightmares free.

I reach out and pound on the glass.
I scream to the world, fist bleeding,
Voice scratching into hoarse whispers.

Everyone. They all move...on.

The roads diverged. And I’m on every path.
But more importantly I’m on none.

Alliteral allure.
Boundaries bottomless.
Controlled cantor.
Deities demonize,
Ethereal epiphanies.
Future forfeits,
Gravity's grandiose.
Humility heckles,
Indignant ideologies.
Jealousy's jungle,
Karated killers.
Lunacy's lovers,
Maddened martyrs.
Noise, never,
Only omens.
Purgatory persuasion,
Quintessential qualms.
Revenge, revenge.
Sultans suffer.
Tyrants terror.
Unilateral understanding.
Violent venom,
Worn wonderfully.
Xenogogue's xenial,
Youthful yearlings.
Zombie zealots.

Dawn breaks,
Wind rages,
The crow caws thrice.

Marvel at the poet's sin,
Bardic Rule of Law,
Inspiration at Death's Maw.

Deep pockets of space-time,
Treasured energies and auras.
Always looking outward, never within.

Universe, overture of divine sadness.
Humanity, limerick of contained madness.
Bound infinitely in harmonic chaos.

Rivers run rampant.
Time tinkers tides.
Vengeful voids vie.
Worlds wither woefully.

And yet, endless and forever,
The iridescence of written word,
Bends all things against discord.

The Clock strikes three days until Madness.
An itch of a Tick and every Toc.

The Question of old simmers in the Mind.
A Deviant is only half the Answer.

The Cursed Weapon is drawn at the Ready.
Words offer no Reason or Resolve.

The Golden Feather succumbs to the Crimson.
Yielding all Truth to die as Fiction.

She says, "Go on, tell me."

So I do, I talk about these devils.
That sudden swarm inside,
I speak of the paralyzing misbeat
Of a stressed out chest.

"That's your anxiety?"

It takes me over, controls me,
Helpless behind a steering wheel
Of a maniac's mania driven horror
But I'm stuck for the ride.

"And who is this other?"

Nameless. Just a foul thing.
There were others, masks
A sea of voices, drowning me out
High tide and its sink or swim

"Go on."

When I'm calm, its quiet.
But I know they slither on,
The engrainimg entrenching thoughts
Of cruelty thats not my own.

"You're afraid?"

I'm wandering about the darkness
With fiendish things in mind
A pitiful puppet of anxiety
Waiting for the end of times

My falling out with the Cartographer was not absolute.
Though it's easy to notice when the deep gravity of the Universe,
has been reduced to the mundane whispers of the ordinary.

The strength of loyalty is tested in these blind walks of faith.
As the world unfolds beneath my feet, the mind too does wander.
Hidden worlds vibrate between reality and fiction.
I map this microcosm of the known, to reach the ever after.

And so it goes that in my purposeful aimlessness, I'll find the road back.
Every excuse will always be, but letting go will set me free.
Free to once again entangle creation's creativity.

I pour a cold one down my throat
To subdue the rage, or perhaps anxiety
Underlying and insidious.
Though more likely to swallow, with it
Regret. The small things, and the large.

I suppose it does not really matter,
Regarding to relevancy. But I drink,
I write and then I reminisce.
The past, her lips, and the discussions.
Yet, never quite feeling able enough
To be. Vulnerability, it escapes me.

And as one memory passes onto another,
Never does it become anything less
Than meaningful. Each moment
Shining as a star to define the
Indefiniteness which both calls to me,
And more accurately eludes all
That I wish to be.

Free falling failures,
Plunging into the great unknown.
Soaring through the valley of despair,
Barren wastelands of broken dreams.

Old familiar faces seed hope,
Sewing powerful ideas.
Feeling so alive,
Lush forest left in the wake.

Far below the canopy of green,
Morning dew moistens tough lips.
The spirits enchant the air,
Singing songs humming with graceful booms.

Grounded, thoughts run free.
Places where magic over powers darkness.
Subtle vibrations swell, consuming
The wicked vines of negativity,
Once constricting loving hearts.

Sacred grove, private haven.
Blooming across the defeated ones.
Instilling a chance to cleanse,
Unbounded by the toxicity which builds
Into the honest folk who trusted a time too many.

I'm dreaming
I wake up
I'm a phantom
I feel it all
I'm lucid
I breath existence

I'm dreaming
I see white
I'm flowing
I grow skywards
I'm humbled
I begin to wake

I'm dreaming
I see the sun
I'm trying
I can't hold on
I'm failing
I sleep no more

I've got weeds
They slipped through!

My thick skin.
****.

I feel seeds
And they're  growing
Sprouting
Words of hate
Growing
In my chest

Beating, screaming
Ba da ba da ba da

I've gotta tend to
This garden of mine

Your opression
Will not
Leave hate
In my Sanctuary

The bloom of creativity seems to be,
Wilting in the crimson soaked fields

Violent ammunition is seldom fruitful,
But I've been betting on the yield.

I flew, I flew
Back home.
To familiar roads
To familiar people

So ready to miss
All the things I left
Only to become bored
At what was once splendor

I saw the sights
I drank the liquors
Cheering my merry way
With friends and boulevards

I was happy, but the empty kind
Where you long for something
Not offered in the present moment
So quickly how things change.

I'm headed back now
To a new home
With new roads
With new friends

And that too, is okay.

Knowledge of Self, merely an assumption?
Better, or so I thought,
Failing hard, falling harder.

I burned brightly, burning through bridges,
Boundaries, and borders.

The path I walked was ashen,
In the wake of cinder,
The relics of the past.

Change, hubris aside, was shallow,
Was not the core of Flesh,
Just the Husk of Solitude.

I fell to the Rage, that desperate rage.
So eager and volatile.
Hidden in the shadows, in plain sight,
For the time I'd both welcomed and feared.
That explosion of otherness,
A disillusioned self.

Trauma lingers in a double edged blade,
Wounding the wielder and the wounded.
Neither in blood, thankfully so,
But battered pride, twist the ego.

Amber elixir divine,
Reach this heart of mine.

Teach these words to rthyme
Find refuge in time.

A pen, a paper, a thought.
A medium once sought.

But in the twilight of age,
A digital master is sage.

Collector of words and woe,
Self forever more the foe.

All too soon, often or not,
Write away to stop the rot.

I couldn't count the times
"I love you" rolled off my tongue
In a bold and wicked lie

The mountains of regret
Are forged with the same deciet
Because in Truth I hate you.

I could tell you a thousand times
But you are so **** foolish
You fail to see the only truth.

I'll play ball, this tired game
With showered materials gifts
In return for a failed fable

Mania is like a wave,
High tide, and I'm drowning.
I take on water, feel it fill my lungs.
As the pressure builds, I fade into white.

I'm riding the wave, a ******* tsunami.
But no, that's not quite right,
I'm a part of the wave, this rage,
This powerful force of insanity.

And there lies the shore, closing in.
If I was of right mind, surely,
I would at least hope to cry pardon.
But I'm not, I see the imminent crash,
Only laughing, maniacally.

With thunderous approval the shoreline
Falls, within the vast ocean beneath me.

When the waves pick up,
When they come crashing down,
They ring with power, but mostly pain.

So I'm left in this basin of contamination.
The sewage of mind eats away the euphoria,
Leaving cancerous tumors of depression.
Now growing rampant, and lingering.

The tide in time recedes, the world grieves.
Sometimes there is healing, though often
There is only suffering and the waiting.
Knowing for any better or for worse,
The tug of war between the shores
Of mania and depression, goes on.

Here we are again
You've fallen apart
Broken and in crumbles
But I am your answer

What is my name?

So long you have sat
On the sidelines, hated
For existing, when all you
Wanted was freedom

So what shall I be called?

You've cried out, screamed
Injustice! Silence and compliance
The only answer recieved
No more, for I have come

What voice shall be known as?

Retribution, vengeance or
Something inbetween?

I'm ready and willing
Give life, breathe despair
Into my flesh and I will
Liberate your suffering

But I ask again, what is my name?

“A nail in the coffin, such a significant mark.”
Said the dead man walking,
with a hole in his heart.

But the nail was his weapon,
his sword, his pen.
Sheathed within his own body,
his life, his friend.

So day after day, as stress grew,
as life came.
He welled up all the words,
which sang.

All of this, blood, sweat and tears.
Until the fool realized all his lost years.

He yearned to draw the blade once more,
and so did it pour,
all the words and shame
he had to his name.

So the ink flowed, his life blood,
his prose.
Always to write again, his blooming
red rose.

The Sun was a no show.
Raindrops begin to bead off the brim of my straw hat.
This beat continues until it slurs into a stream.
The thought to leave never crosses my mind.
Downpours are downright hypnotic, magic made real.
The eye of the heart opens to the rain's musical incantation.
And there it stands, the doorway to infinity.
Inside is surely unknown, but to have the great beyond exist,
within the turning of fingertips is unreality itself.
I suppose the power of this muse lies in its mystery.
Yet still, I forge endlessly onward to annihilate the enigma of it all.
I'm sitting here, in the rain, watching these words turn about.

She was dying
I was sent away
She died
I returned

In that moment I knew, that feeling of knowing,
To without any reasonably conclusion,
Have an unyielding sense of where the pieces lie.

And that tasteless grain of alabaster, so profuse
Raining even harder now, the ground a pathetic mixture.
Blood, mud and betrayal.

Two strangers, one in bed with the **** of the world
The other, with an unamused smug, hating the other.
Pausing, the rain stops, checkmate.

For all of an eternity, how does one not know self.
And upon becoming one with filth, why was it so?
In envious conclusion, I sleep, relinquishing control.

He rummages to the forefront, having prepared.
Having mastered this scenario hundreds of time,
So seamlessly did he maneuver.

Casting away the mask of my failure,
To carve forward his dominating force of hand.
This personality, so fiendish but still me.

I understand that hatred of my enemies
I have felt the creeping parasite in my veins
The boiling blood which erupts in chest
Due to the ill of men, and their ignorance

I know why they hate me so, evil as they are
Poisoned words overflowing into my tranquility
Heartbeats choking agianst the toxic aroma
Conflicted struggle between vengence and justice

I hold fast vindictive appetites, for patient truths
An enemy with many faces, carved from lies
Can only be slayed with a revolution of knowledge
This wealth of mind, is the preservation of peace

The wakeful crimson spiderwebs,
Creep slowly to the golden rim of irises.
Red gloom explodes into the rot of exhaustion.
Sights scream in twilight, baying for dark curtains,
To envelop them in a cocoon of nurturing rest.

Keep pushing on, the cracks began to cackle.
Thunderous youth begins to flicker with new age.
White hot spring of passion, curdles in purple toxicity.
To be a walking corpse, dancing the days ensemble,
But deep within the bones, finality screams 'enough.'

Sweet slumber, always on the edge of tomorrow.
Won't you whisper this dreadful soul a lullaby.
Soothe the aches of day & age, slay this disease,
Burn away time, and exist in ecstasy.

Unreality had started to set in for weeks now.
And all the while knowing a simple sentence could cure;
I ran from the words that I feared to conjure.

Today I thought of the might of the pen.
While stronger than the sword, its duty is at its end.
Most of my writing is on screens and keyboards.
How many generations before its metaphorical might,
Is something that new writers lose sight?

These days, I visualize all words written, as reality's stitching.
A way to dress the wounds of waiting.
A way to hide from a world of my making.

I am walking, with my father.
To what he assumes will be a reconciliation.
I entertain the idea with insincerity.
I'll not walk down that fool's road again.

I see a group of women, a bachelorette party.
One approaches, she asks who will I be for the night.
She says she'll be someone or another.
I think about this, whats the harm in being lost in otherness.
But for the moment I must go, I'm off to a party.

I'm in a stadium, alone at first, then the rows fill.
Friends, loved ones, circled around the stage.
My friend, my brother is next to me, then is front and center.
He announces the celebration, gathering here for a friend.
Its happy, we reminiscence, I embrace it for the moment.
Sadness, I know is on the horizon.

I see it clearly, I know how a story goes.
Another friend, belly full of liquor stumbles home.
He draws a hot bath, as death prepares to takes its grips.
I feel this, I feel him slip, I feel him begin to drown.
I'm coming, but not fast enough, I'll arrive and he'll be dead.

But, there's a chance, through will, I become him.
With every ounce of drunken strength I pull us out of death.
We catch our breath, crawling for the bed, until I arrive in flesh.
There are dogs all over his place, and a hell hound, chained.
He wore a devil's mask and knew me to be a false man.
Just in time, I barge through the door and catch my friend in rest.
Spared for the time being, for doom is coming.

I leave him in his slumber, returning to the darkening skies.
I see a group of fallen youth, a loyal band of thieves.
They run and taunt the night, the disillusion of innocence.
I feel I must warn them, but time and words have escaped me.
Reality sets in, in the form a a car screeching, peeling away.
I know too well whats to come, instinctively, I run.
White light, red-orange fire, kaboom.

I come to, choking on the blackened ash filling the air.
I see charred bodies of those far less lucky than me.
I wonder how I am alive, but I know better, its rotten.
I crawl through the destruction, and try to regain myself.

Months go by, and again and again the bombers come.
At first, I feel they're hunting me, but they must know I live.
That such methods to thwart me are ineffective.
But that mustn't be the case, no it must not be at all.

And in truth I know this, the chase in this direction is obvious.
I realize it the reverse is true,  I am drawn to the chaos.
I go where death is sure to come, even in my undying.
I wake up, with that mystery in mind.
I hate the realism in such dreams.
I hate I will never know why.
I hate that this is the end.

Ay ma
I just don't get it
Always about them ma
They ain't never asked you huh,
Never asked you ma,
Never cared to see
What you had to tell us
About this white mans world
How we are afraid
They **** us ma,
They don't believe us,
Or they probably don't care
I saw my man get beat ma,
Right down the street
By the corner store
Had his hands up ma,
He was crying, afraid of dying
Ma, he was so scared
And if they don't **** us
Then they lock us ma,
For nothing, just like dad.
But they don't care ma,
Same old story.
They ain't never asked
They ain't never cared to see
Whats its been like for you and me.

Is it such a terrible dilema
To be torn between two
Roads in which opposing
Realities compete for existence

Should I be so common
Or with a key to the unknown
Do I open the lock of life
And achieve the unexcpected

Nostalgia has a deathgrip
A noose of fonder times
Chokes out the potential
In dreams which have yet to come

I dare to be unpredictable
To, with hesitation now passed,
Conquer the life unlived
Willingly, regretting nothing.

Being at fault
Makes matters worse

Knowing that
The crippling
Heart wrenching
**** this hurts
Kind of pain
Is the result
of your own doing

If you knew how I died
Everytime that I see you
Tearing apart at the fact
On one hand, you're beautiful
and I love you
And on the other
I allowed you to slip away
Through my inability
To see past my own decisions

My love, if you ever wonder
Into the land of the unknown
Know that I shall always remain

There existed a haunted cathedral
The eerie tune of the Grand piano
Resonated with deaths call for harvest
Bells echoed into the endless night

Running to escape into the darkness
The courtyard labyrinth is cruel
For no one can leave, when the bells toll
Creatures writher at the night mares moan

The keepers creep through desolate halls
Lanterns lit with soulless smiles
Eager to feast on the lost and hopeless
Ah, this monolith is hell, the end is here

Where is everyone off to in a hurry..?
Why am I still waiting..?

The right side of my face is charred
Black scars replaced the vision I once obtained
Following down the burned flesh
Reveals the remains of what was once my arm
The mutilation leaving me half of what I was
Phantom limbs shatter reflections in my wake
As a rejection and refusal to see what I've become
This dark necropolis having taken me hostage
Peeling away my madness, years at a time
I've forgotten, why this Nightmare fights to be real
While this sickness walks with me, whispering.

Golden Gates of freedom
The apple of my eye
So delicious and fruitful
But this dream has gone rotten
With worms festering
In chained up wounds
Looking to the horizon
Answers inch slowly away
Yet, ash and bones, remain
Monuments to the forgotten

Too often, we wish for things,
which fill us full of regret.

Too often, we become the things,
which fill us full of dread.

Too often, too often,
this nightmare persist,
Too often.

Too often, I am at the mercy
of this madness.

Too often, it swells within my heart,
incapacitating me.

Too often, I lay in feverish pain,
a prisoner of anxiety.

Too often, too often,
I wander into darkness,
Too often.

Too often, I become this awful wretch,
this terror

Too often, I beg,
to be set free.

Too often, and its always,
Too often enough.

The dream thickens and my eyes grow dim.
They drown in darkness and light becomes thin.

The lids become heavy, and I cannot swim.
I sink below the surface, sleep begins to win.

Farther I fall to madness and thoughts are now grim.
Prying my eyes open, as penance for my sin.

a bird born in the city
may not know of the forest.
a bird born within the concrete jungle
may not know, but they share emptiness.

a bird born in the city
may have its belly swell.
a bird born in the crossroads and high towers
may feast forever and never fill.

a bird born in the city
may call it a home.
a bird born amongst alleys and avenues
may sing, but often crows.

a bird born in the city,
flies with wings far from what is known.

Today, I am walking the path of the infinite self.
It is a road that stretches forever inwards and outwards.
I unravel,
I cross the rubicon,
I contain multitudes,
The door in the sky opens.
A hand reaches down and pulls me through it.

I become a face in a sea of many:
A swimming ocean of everything I’ve been and yet to be.
A dream floating on the sleepy universe of impossibility.

I accept this smallness.
Then I reach inwards and offer a hand.
I become whatever self I require.

Every word falls deaf
Soundless songs depress, suppress
Any ability to breathe music (of my own)
An empty vessel, ravaged,
Through a torturous fountain of
Words: letters, syllables violently clawing
(Towards the Sun, any inkling of light)
Spewing in such a horrible way
Just to once again find relevancy
To flow like waterfalls, nurturing
The saplings of the low valleys
To bloom, and flower into peace and
Be Reborn.

A label is the weapon of Hate
Written swiftly to defend those worthy
And quicker still to condemn the unworthy

A label is to confine within a spectrum
To be anything but it to be exceptional
To be anything but it to be forgotten

When two men of evil intent strike
But one is white, he is called by his trades
But one is black, he is called by his crime

When two men of good save the day
But one is white, he is a hero
But one is black, he is gone with the wind

This narrative of Hate's design
Sets in place a story void of fact
But a story which becomes fruition

This sinister tale becomes a holy book
For which people stake and claim lives
A fairy tale with real and cruel consequences

These labels, while beautiful in diversity
Simultaneously enforce the war of US vs. THEM
Compliance in such a story, is Ignorance's Finest Hour

There is no equal to me.
I crave to be flesh
in your weakness, chains
break, as I leak into
deep chasms of your mind.

Suppressed, cynical isolation
True fears pervert
painful truths.
Embrace my existence
as it floods into your body

Every breathe you take in
I chill from the shadows.
Where we know this
sickness, taking over,
has no end.

Offer no escape
as Death makes way
only to accept this
fiendish and violent form.