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Devon Baker Nov 2013
I’m the sickness,
the grotesque singularity that envelopes and gropes that sick nectar.

The sickly substance drains so subtle upon the cut edge of lips
and the pillar draw strings stitched and bound between cardiac flesh.
I’ll cleave,
cut and seethe,
suckle upon the sin I glower as I twine
and tug at those piano puppet strings caught in twain with every heart beat,
just trigger happy nerves spackled in misunderstood concept called love and impulse.

Pluck the collar cuff at your guttural sing and sentence,
those ballots fluttering from between pearl teeth,
I’m stealing those breathing gasps and loving longings;
they’re all just flecks and fragments of lackluster human baggage,
just mannequins treading sluggish,
fractured splinter frame and hinge fickle.
I’m the socio experiment,
the fiendish distaste of a chimera,
the zealous of corrupted cold hearted,
faux feeling skin wearing thing.

Just a copulation of electrical splatter and liquid tissue,
inorganic animal,
snapping jaw and glass shard fangs.
I’ll rile and reeve between the click and snap of your heart beat,
coddle the smoke of prey’s scent,
I’ll parasite the life blood that courses and holds beneath your emotional connect.
My cancer’s a slaughter fed consolation,
ever feasting malignant circumstance,
it rallies a thousand eyes,
irises blood thick,
fragments my moral conscience with teeth riddled limbs,
claws that chew and tear.

A multi-armed fiend,
segmented soulless and black tainted blood lost long ago,
all that remains ***** is the tissue wearing skeleton I claim domain,
fragmenting the soul into steel shards,
all’s just razor edge mechanical once the human feel falls to ash amongst the clutter of bone.
You’ll find the soulless circuit board in the gulf of your cancerous conscience,
as the human corrupts to cancer
Apr 2013 · 1.9k
Cancer, the American Made
Devon Baker Apr 2013
Thatcher vacuum seals nicotine
Slurps cigarette like mosquito
Ravenous lungs gnaw and grind for the slow pander,
Thatcher’s just another name for the labeling
We plaster and pine for an out,
Stitch that finite lie beneath squeamish child skin,
Thatcher’s the black lung paradise,
******* infancy coddling cigarette stifle,
The caloric crack of his canines fletching out lust and sickly groove
As he’s scopes out fiend and vexed vandals,
Clutches the sick theistic *******
Cuddle those bruise licked hips
Give God the gross percent,
Cause heaven’s in those greenbacks
and God’s in the ******* kick,
Suckling bout the American tip
The Christian capitol,
Seething on shadow puppet ****** and American dream,
Gods got nothing to do with the slickened crinkle of gain and glamour,
Thatcher’s just the candy man give and cult,
Cough the crutch of contagion greed
And clutch the cuff of your porcelain sleeve,
Thatcher gleans your blackest suite tight,
Struts raven blade shoulders perched on American made spine,
Thatcher does as Thatcher please,
Thatcher thinks as Thatcher bleeds,
And Thatcher bleeds venereal blend,
Gout with the American veneer of broken girl and scabbed moral traumatic,
Trauma tastes as the hollow pixies give out the get out,
Bandaged baby girls,
The teenage horror show,
Just another blazoned hit of one two take the hand me down generic give away,
Desensitize the humanize,
Girls got to get the days glossy puff and sniff,
Thatcher’s content to satisfy,
Callous coroner a spectator suckling Marlboro lick,
Lodging thick smoke and toxin between spittle slick lips,
Albino plumes clotting and unfolding,
Thatcher clicks back the cartridge
Filter and cigarette,
Thatcher gulps back the need because brain’s got a favoring kink for the buzz,
Thatcher sings with the screaming in his straggling lungs,
Hums the western creed
Laughs fickle with God at his need,
Thatcher’s the true American dream
Devon Baker Apr 2013
gonna speak the words
that quake the christian
that crucify the jew,
it’s gonna bar the torah,
build bridges upon the hindu,
god and great power,
war of mortal
where is your father,
your creator,
mother,
blesser,
such sub-deity,
such inferior,
man manifests God,
constructs the divinity
to self satisfy,
I speak no lie,
speak no truth,
just the way
of our weakness,
just another
lost boy conveying,
just a repetition
rerunning,
solving nothing,
just an artist
poetic
playing out
the crumbs of
ideas long lost
and reborn,
living on
reincarnated
everliving,
just a philosopher
readvising,
just god in
meek
human
skin,
just no one,
another voice,
another name,
I’m just you,
and we are we
Devon Baker Apr 2013
We put bad people in boxes
with bad people
so multiple wrongs will make a right,
we trust our security with faces
that have to prepare a conference to tactically decide how to answer a personal question,
we smile and say good morning cause we can be bought,
we all want someone,
we all want to be left alone,
we want the lights to stay on even when we’ve voted for poverty,
we want perfection while we belittle the astounding,
we’re wearing masks cause it’s easier to be hateful and indifferent than show compassion,
while we keep begging for someone to love us,

“someone please,
I’m so alone,
please just some love…really you like that band?
that idea,
that belief?
you’re *******,
you’re weak and mentally below me as a human being,
god you actually care what I think?
you’re so pathetic,
cause I don’t care about anything you have to say,
you actually want to help me with my problems?
just because I complain every second of everyday doesn’t mean I give a **** about you caring, that’s weak.”


we have always been ******,
we have always been stung,
we have always been dumb,
and you’ll learn nothing cause no one does,
keep building bridges made of match sticks into that black hole mirror
i’m just here for the fireworks
Apr 2013 · 1.1k
God's on Antipsychotics
Devon Baker Apr 2013
you think you’re crazy
don’t worry,
god’s crazy,
god made the demons in his head ,
made beings to carry the monsters seething from his omnipotent,
gave you a brain beating to the chemical cocktail
blood and ****
pain and instinctive lust
gain to gorge,
you’re just the issues god takes his prescriptions for,
stop asking
pleading,
groping why,
clutch that 20,000 leagues deep self esteem
and cuddle the cockroaches slithering about your skull line,
cash the cracked aspirations
and scar barren flashbacks of childhood and fleeting “innocence”,
you’re of it
made for it
just another it in the frontal lobe of the big mans ****** ******,
bludgeon the reasoning,
the self serving
“why me?”
“why this?”
“why good?”
“why evil”
why not just accept cause and effect,
things break,
things fix,
things die,
things live,
there’s no
westernized
white bread
european cast deity judging these play toys
on a singular ignorant perspective
known as “morals”
of which we as american christians know by birth
even though perspective’s just a shaped system
clay formed by surroundings and conditioning,
meaning is a lie we manifest to make living comfortable,
accept and live,
die and ascend,
be bliss
coddle the drug,
and take your place as gods little chemical embalance
Devon Baker Aug 2012
There's a tiger in the tree top,
playing checkers with the sun king,
cutting light across the cloudscape,
as black takes red for another king me,
God carves the stubble along the jaw line,
clean cut remedy
we all sing for the twenty-third century break me down,
break the matchbox,
light us up,
burn the red wood down,
tiger's gonna swallow the world,
tiger's gonna bleed a rectified rainbow realist chorus,
all the pawns are at root,
all players underfoot,
God's got checkers playing with the son killing world feaster,
tiger tiger, what do you fear?
oh tiger tiger, what hell do you bear?
oh tiger, how death plays you so
so foolish,
tiger tiger,
you fall
Devon Baker Aug 2012
Where does the world go when it’s swallowed into abyss,
sodomized selectively with its own abandoned sins,
self induced lies and illogics,
it can’t drag it’s eyes across the gritted mirror,
stained scattered across its frame,
It’s drag marks burrowed into its arms,
veins a scab of ache and infected grit,
the world festers,
it’s gaunt and slender,
a skinny ****,
eyes carved deep within the bowels of its skull,
coke left overs flecked at its bleeding nostrils.

Everything is a consentuated trip,
the world’s gone sour,
look at her,
used and hollow,
thighs voluptuous,
yet bruised so tender beneath the surface,
if you could strip her skin rye and clean
to see the muscle tendons beneath
then you’d find hand prints scattered across her,
down through her curves,
violating and probing deep inside her,
no place the wicked haven’t been on and inside her.

Fingers of spider and the unnerving maggots that crawl beneath,
she scatters the buck shot shavings
abound the blood screened room of bodies and fiendish men long lost and bullet beaten,  
the shot gun barrel tokes a puff of gunpowder exhaust as she swings it levered spewing
it’s shrapnel with laughter,
and her grin,
the world’s broken smile,
disease ridden and staunched,
it burns ember as the bodies stain the hotel carpet,
stain over stain,
sin feasting on sin.

World, where does it end?
World, where?
World, will it ever end?

World, death doesn’t take a day off.
Jul 2012 · 950
The Eden of Paradise
Devon Baker Jul 2012
I don't look into your eyes
I escavate every amber stripe
kissing the pin wheeling crevices
a rotary ferris wheel blurring and twisting
mingling as if your eyes of auburn oil and gold
were CD-ROMs racing at light speed
breathing your heart beat with every rotation
I peer into my universe and yours
God's and the eternity in between
and my stare slips as your eyes smile with your lips
and I curl with the dimples of your eyes
the moon and the sun collapse
and paradise blooms wide
in every amber glisten of your pupil
Jul 2012 · 752
Bending You a God Complex
Devon Baker Jul 2012
I'll bend you a rainbow
breathe life into the moon
caress the shallow cheek of infant imps
sprites and ginger snap blossoms
all for the blessing of your creased grin
the blazoned beauty unparalleled
your figure pined for by the seas and sun
eyes danced in copper silk
I rustle hollowed amongst the shades
kindled on the embers of your smile
paling bleach I rest among the pavement
closest to the soil
all is right in a world cuddled to your elegance
all is right when the sun rises to kiss you awake
you are the glint of sunshine in this world
Jul 2012 · 500
Opposed to Heart Beating
Devon Baker Jul 2012
Laying upon the soil I breathe for the last of my kind,
residing beneath the cigarette burn deemed moon,
I know death upon my spine and shoulders,
it is in this hollow scene of counter productive heart beating,
death is six feet beneath,
as I blow out my birthday candles,
burn out the blood marks on my finger nails,
the grass holds me tight,
whispers heaven of god as I kiss death with my eyes wide open
Jul 2012 · 775
Count Me Down Doomsday
Devon Baker Jul 2012
one, two,
not dead
three, four,
not dead
five, six,
not sane
seven, eight,
not sick
nine, ten,
not well
not right
not there
nor here
ten, nine
eight, seven
maybe I'll be right
maybe I'll be rain
six, five, four
three's not here, two died in a fire
one's hanging in the corner
the death never ends,
days never cease,
it's all names and numbers and chaos the cure
maybe
maybe not
might as well
**** the hammer on my tongue
spell out my soul on every desktop screen
madness makes the man and mother births the demon
dying in slow motion we get enough time to destroy one another
Jul 2012 · 831
Cigarette Sky Line
Devon Baker Jul 2012
Everyday's a spell bound drag,
embers scarred along scuffed knee caps,
baking the lips,
ash bitten into the tongue,
I watch infinity burn and swoon,
a scarlet star that never ceases to suicide trip along the earth's axis,
ever spinning,
always falling,
she's a super nova splendid,
accompanying my selfless self undoing,
I clamor amongst the midnight vices,
collecting stars with the outlines of my finger tips,
dancing to phantoms never dreamed,
immortality wrestled along my colar bones,
it's all a game of dying slower than decomposing
Jul 2012 · 658
God Bye
Devon Baker Jul 2012
To the godless horizon,
it's splendor,
paradise along the crest of the ocean waves,
flaunting its shimmer,
to the heat,
to the blood that clots beneath my teeth and nail,
all I see are the wavelengths,
dark matter quantums in our air stream,
the atoms dance between your tongue,
electrons flashing like computer nurons,
paradise grins blood shot and doped along ******* heart beats,
God splintered along my pupils dilating,
all is tripped and colliding,
all is Cheshire,
all is Alice,
all is ask
Devon Baker Dec 2011
They never should have let me out of the box,
these harnesses are coddled in rust and will never do,
I nearly have an arm free now.
Tis the bloodlust,
the ever recurring,
I cauterize so sickly raptured and recoiled,
vile animal reveling beneath fang and flesh.
Tis the beast wrought beneath this parchment bearing,
what is left of mortal means
as the morals feast upon the limbs and lungs of one another.
Ever screaming,
my memories wrench and tear,
torn in ribbons splayed from lung to tissue.
My demon slaughters the remnants packed and hid way
in corner and shadow,
ideals and sockets of life scratch and rip
across the flesh of the air as their lungs flood so violently,
doused in creamy blood liquid.
I die so sullenly,
so intrepidly,
dripped in god’s sunlight beams,
bathed in crackling spine and broken butterfly wings.
I writhe not in brain fractured grenade shrapnel,
not felted amongst iron clad bomb shards,
I lie so serenely,
stomach basking in sun beam,
I bite and suckle upon such succulent fruits of flesh,
human meat and such soft hips of lustful imps,
so untouched and littered in my most precise of bite marks.
I stake claim to the everest of fiendish hues,
chains so kin to my sins,
mind so ravaged in demonish,
all thought is mother to acts so sickly in hellish cravings,
I seek no retribution for ideals so crimped and carved through my bones.
All is relative to one’s fiendish benevolences.
I take care to ratify my most ancient of antiquities,
the very blood line that so racks this mortal sense of the human reality.
This evil is ever bearing and eternal lasting,
nor it’s will softened.
Shackles crease and crinkle
so fondly with every sickly furnished breath.
Oct 2011 · 831
Playing By Myself
Devon Baker Oct 2011
I was that boy bobbed in blonde hair
smiling for the world.
Catholic tie and attire draped on my corpse.
I once felt the beat of the sun
as I trotted to church in navy dress socks.
The twilit sun roused my tiny frame,
smile dressed prim when day meant infinity.
I was a new born.
Isolation befriended me.
I used to crave for the corners of a stable room.
When I made friends
I forgot them at the school parking lot.
I played by myself when the other children turned to ghosts.
My blonde hair gleamed in the reflected glistening of the sun,
dripping to the floor like washable paint.
I forgot friends and I adapted to a new school.
I don’t make friends,
I fool ghosts to keep me from playing by myself.
The moon was bigger when I was four foot tall
and everyday was forever.
There used to be memories in those middle school class rooms,
there used to be living children.
I laughed because my hair had long since dulled in luster
and the universe finally noticed me in that corner.
The furniture migrated to newer houses,
but I haunted each one like it was my own.
My bones reached for the skies.
I painted masks under my skin.
And the universe bowed over me in that corner
where the shadows are too shy to answer
and gave me a special game to play.
I developed a sense of self under that cloud lit canopy.
Everyday swallowed into eternal.
I left friends at the door so I could walk to them.
The night licked the eve, and the universe gave me sickly.
High school wasn’t a fantasy,
I figured it out in my sleep.
The house looks best on new soil,
and the room’s never felt so expansive.
I trot along the tile,
universe at my every step,
it’s eyes already know mine.
I built a machine
or a demon to feign myself.
I had a smile that carried a soul in its arms.
I’ve never disowned that corner
where the world came to me.
I meet ghosts everyday,
the very few I invite home.
I’ve made love to philosophy and science before I counted the stars.
The universe ponders my shoulder
and gives me a glory to behold,
and a pencil to carry.
I used to be a boy of blonde hair and innocent grin
and day used to mean infinity.
I used to be the fragments of me.
Now I’m the boy that was me.
Oct 2011 · 1.1k
Mother, Might you Release Me
Devon Baker Oct 2011
Maybe if I unsheathed the buttons so lovingly,
slipped them from their beds like children doting under the breath of my fingers,
I could be free
unwrap these tendril sleeves
unknot and untie like braided shoe laces
child smile booming on my lips
maybe I could slither out and under this jacket of rigid strait edge,
maybe I could lick the clouds with my unclaimed hands
bathe in unrestraint,
Tug upon the chains of God’s grace
Burn these walls
and cut down the servants of white gowns and latex gloves
those thieves and miscreants,
Demons of pill born needles,
Strip down my skin and carcass
relinquish all of human trait
to bore over them as the demon they boldly create,
the ******* of razor bladed teeth,
Leather based restraint,
They so dutifully attempt to restrain me,
I’ll finger paint with their brain splatter,
just unstitch this jacket,
rouse the children from their sleeping,
unbutton them so verily gently,
Please mother unbind my wings,
coddle my wound,
Mother dearest might I finally go to you
Devon Baker Oct 2011
It’s that of losing sensory touch,
my every emotional synthetic lost beneath this skin.
Plastic or that of parchment flesh,
feelings no longer flow and flex beneath,
the electrical current died mid dance,
all is hollow,
no outer force relieves my eternal,
this faceless numbness,
the only emotion that leaves a sting,
cinges my cadaver nerves
is the flame of frustration,
the itch of anger and irritation.
I find it much more playful
than the spineless dolls of dorment feeling,
it’s the only one that gives me a response,
the latter are that of loosely tangible
lost to that of my feelingless far spaces
of the brain for later use and development,
for now all is lukewarm,
so muffled in psychopathic,
isolation carves the human out of me,
leaves nacked nerves sensitive only to that of the burn,
i’m best left dead when alone,
i’m more than half way there.
Devon Baker Sep 2011
Smile so haunting with devilish
or fiendish
or that of charming aesthetics,
the slender creature of a man
parched flesh of paper
would flick his eyes bright
and stir crazy as embers
about the stage,
his hair a mat of threads,
ancient and animalistic,
yet of thick wafting softness,
he appears so gentle,
so timid
child eyes brushed by his bangs
yet confident in that grin
cut so lightly across his face,
he would disarm your distrust,
carry you to his attractive gentleness
as he cloaks the stage about him
and then as the lights dim,
the audience edged on their seats,
your sheepish and sugar laced eyes
of curiosity linger at the heels of his lips,
as he slaughters your precious innocence,
with My words,
smile ever increasing
feasting on their fearful stares
my poem a muffled shotgun
at the back of the audiences head,
their tremoring bodies scream
as he constrains the straps constricting
their legs and limbs,
all the world’s a coroner’s table
he stoops so lovingly over them,
snow white raven of a boy,
his words of glinting blade dive,
their eyes a mess of soupy white and tangled red
surgical increments ripping their ribs and sternum wide,
they scream with blistered skin,
straps beginning to burrow and feast into their limbs,
the boy labors diligently,
effortlessly he worms his fingers about blood drenched organs
twists and plucks them free,
the victim’s body squirming,
skin wriggling,
as their eyes stare and gasp upon
their organs strewn next to them,
shock ripping through them,
crawling within their hollowed out body,
he laps up their gaping wound,
cut and carved from sternum to pelvis,
licking up blood soaked soul and kidney,
my demon of timid grin spills out the final phrases
his victims have long lost resilience,
they watch and lie as a mess of human,
half corpses on the table,
the audience a funeral procession,
the lights suffocated,
no one wishes to speak,
silence is the only reverie to my poems darkness
the boy or man,
demon or fiend
would softly grin
the audience just as cold and dead as him
Devon Baker Sep 2011
I despise you cat
fluffed ball of bone and undying hatred
you scratch
you scrawl
you torture me so
cat of fatty bulk and inquisitive uncaring
you will suffocate beneath your girth
please cat roll away
if your lazy hiss choked you
I would be ever happy
you blob upon the floor
you the scourge of all mans happiness
I would slaughter
with that of a hatchet or cumbersome pillow
I would slaughter
you the scourge of all mans happiness
you blob upon the floor
I would be ever happy
if your lazy hiss choked you
please cat roll away
you will suffocate beneath your girth
cat of fatty bulk and inquisitive uncaring
you torture me so
you scrawl
you scratch
fluffed ball of bone and undying hatred
I despise you cat
Sep 2011 · 1.1k
Carrying Corpses
Devon Baker Sep 2011
My demons, the colossus of slaughter
and infantile undoing
are draped as a jagged carcass of a wreath,
of twisted and malignant ****** limbs,
upon my shoulders and stark throat
dripping stagnant
as a mangled bear of grizzled fur and barbed wire,
I heave this colossal mane
my sanctioned torturing ever heaven bearing,
legs biting tension, tibias finally cracking
I trudge, seethe and scourge with limbs
far rusted and burdened,
the girth of my weighing
wreath of clotted bone and blood,
mammoth corpse of whale and boorish bear,
hunker down about these broken hinged blades of shoulder,
godly cloak of human sin, and iron curtain
my siphoned lungs drain about the ground
dripping from the flesh of my lips,
spilling out as life,
I cough and purge all my mortal given organs
upon the belly of the Earth,
wreath of anchor chain and rotted animal bulk
bar and breach this shrapnel spine,
legs splintered,
no man might carry,
only a corpse could accept
the wearing weight of the worlds sins,
I forever stammer on
Devon Baker Sep 2011
My heart stops beating as I open my eyes,
I expand my lungs to breathe and live
for a decade and two thirds
never feeling,
only believing the felt tip of feel,
then on days where the sun casts shadows
that stretch out claws for kilometers,
this chasm of a grave within a chest
extends out a hand to hold the wet handle of my umbrella.
My legs cease to moving,
my eyes still scrutinizing the sky,
no wrath blazing at the edge of the pupils,
only that of dusted gold washed about my eyelids,
the rain only falling,
ever dropping,
the sun smeared across murky sky.
Devon Baker Aug 2011
Crippled creature broken in ballistic bone fracture about the blind tile,
freckled in blade licked flesh,
back strap shoulder blades quiver gaunt as skeleton wings
sprinkled in splashed satin fruitless reds and auburn oils,
the child’s insides splattered across the stomach of the floor,
limp muscle binding that of bundled circuitry,  
the boy only resembling needle and sticks
a mass of anatomy straightened out in lifeless splendor,
bone splinters clotted in saw dust muscle grindings
the face showered in locks and tangles,
galaxies and embered suns,
tassels golden simmered,
the creature’s hair a mane torn over his black socket eyes,
fierce in ferocity growling,
a monstrous roaring of prideful bangs,
Fallow face and cheek stomped to the floor as a rag
his form splashed about ground and surface.
Skin nearly bleached in cancer cell white,
a body folded as parchment, joints and ligament playing the part
lightless strewn as an idea lost in lifeless.
A white room hollow, muteness staling,
the busting of a boy broken in scaffold limbs torn
intwined amongst netted nerves wound about spindled bone
branched out in checkered blood stain
Shattered arms resembling puzzle pieced wings,
boy bathed in synthetic sunlight kisses,
But a watch crushed in brittle bronze shards about God’s feet
Aug 2011 · 498
Who’s in the Mirror
Devon Baker Aug 2011
That’s me,
but is it me
or just the thing
I’ve grown accustomed to wearing as my face and skin.
Does a mask ever dream of being the face,
does fiction ever fake being for real,
when does pretending become acting
and acting grow into living.
Am I who I was or am I what’s left,
is my soul staring at me from this mirror or someone else.
God’s playing tricks,
and I’m falling in everyone.
I’m not staring into a mirror,
I’m staring out of it,
I’m the mask cloaked across these burning eyes.
I was never me,
I was just playing the role of me as someone else
and now they’ve lost who they were and I fill the shoes.
These shoes are uncomfortably heavy,
they’re crushing the sanity I’m pretending to have,
and now the worlds coming to end,
I’m losing this war.
I don’t exist,
I was just a mask worn to fool the world,
I am no person
just the memory remains splattered across his shoes.
I Am….
I Am…..
i am…me and he is not him,
because he was never a he I am he,
there was never a mask for I never needed one.
This world never challenged me to hide from its devilish eyes
as I am no fool to its cowardly ways,
and I most certainly am no mask.
No skin to hide behind,
no lie to cower under,
for I am the mind of this body.
I am the reflection across that mirror
and I am the misunderstood individual before it.
That is me and this is I.
Aug 2011 · 562
Blind Denial
Devon Baker Aug 2011
It wasn’t me,
so I kept pleading
not only to the suspicious uniformed figures
impatient and wide
in front of my only means of escape,
but to my still scuffed and blood stained self.
The steel hearted butcher blade
appeared fairly realistic and believable
discarded on the hard wood floor,
and the ocean of rosy glazed blood
accompanying it seems to match the scene drawn out
in my now deceased neighbor’s house.
The ****** weapon strewn across the floor,
the body torn vicious and ****** in its own house,
my ****** and violent appearance
with the full audience of two curious officers.
I now wonder if it was me,
could it be, is it.
Oh well even if it isn’t
these cops could really complicate things
if they decide to take me in,
good thing I keep a spare blade hidden in my sleeve.
Aug 2011 · 551
Burn Me Down
Devon Baker Aug 2011
Burning down,
blazing round,
I’m the monster in this undying,
blame these wounds,
and open this sky.
Spite this thing of once kindled joy,
slaughter forth,
and live this line.
******* flaw,
linger on edges sharp and tainted,
burn me round,
blaze me down
and shake the pain away.
I’m the wrong,
that’s the wrathful,
**** my exist and bury these memories.
I the monster,
these are the claws,
****** me and live away,
burn me down,
twist me out and turn around.
Pull the gun to life,
shake the frustrate,
watch the show unfold,
****** me under the moon oh so a glow.
Forfeit,
give way,
forget and hate me.
I’m the end to this dreading day,
nightmare this and burn me away.
Burn me down,
blazing round,
**** and bury,
die and live,
roar until there is no end.
I the wrong,
you the right,
I the cruel,
you the never-ending song.  
Forever live on and on.
Devon Baker Aug 2011
(For the Words of LIFE have already been spoken tens of Times over through the Centuries)*


I’d write,
spill out words,
letters binded and bond,
pasted to structure and form.
Language to engage and interact,
to mean and defy,
but this tongue of fingers,
lips of print and digital paper
have laser printed the world out upon the glitter of the screen.
Whispered to sing
and shriek sonnets of the reality I’m chuckling within,
presence surrounding.
I’ve spent shadowed years to form my personalized blue prints,
the architecture of the emotions and logics,
the laws to routines I’ve overseen.
I’ve grasped reality and found a serene among terror and sadness,
wretched and blurred.
Obviously I can contain contentnous when I’m so lavished,
family surrounding,
medium wealth cloaked about me,
but it only gives me even more reason to convey calm,
control, and content.
I’ve bathed among aloneness to puzzle about in confuse and wonder,
figuring to form a philosophy.
There is nothing left to pass against the parched flesh of my lips,
for the universe has already grasped it within the wind.
Devoured my sense of self and awareness,
there’s little left to say when every significant philosophy and observation
I’ve known and could provide
I’ve already said
or has been said
for it is but a well known to sought after cliché or element of the living.
What’s left to speak when every thought feels as common knowledge.
Devon Baker Aug 2011
The fuzzy hug that never loosens its grasp
Clutching as a barbed wire hugs and puppies cuddle and love,
whiskers and noses nuzzling, the straitjacket loves your mind,
wishes it could just squeeze the nightmares out and streaming as juices from an orange,
but its might only pressurizes, the more you fight the more you hurt,
bruising our precious straitjacket heart, he’s here to help us
take the tasks of fettering hands
just to hug and coil about us
Learn to love them, the society blanket,
the crazy snuggler, the bunny constrictor
Crazy’s not useful and our little straitjacket cures our woes
strangling us within linen cotton folds
simmer our fires
breaking our bronc
hushing our tantrum cry
It’s the mother we Learn to love
Kin that keeps us in heavenly grip
The Straitjacket’s here for all our insanists
Aug 2011 · 3.0k
Godless Heredity
Devon Baker Aug 2011
The insane live forever,
lust lawlessly over all things conceived fascinating
to the validity and gluttony of the mind.
Brain feasters we live to strive,
exist to be,
all things so mundane to our gluttony,
we hunger for something on border lines,
the limits of human mumbling over morality.

Cease your everest squirming,
your infantile homage bearing,
you find so viscous an evil,
so vile a fiend in us the broken chains.
Godless we sing the marching banter of forlorn free will,
we have no conscience to bear,
no after thought found alive anywhere.
The psychopath lurches out about child like smiles,
lives a second agenda basis before any infant experiments sin upon innocence.
Born divine this mutant knows free will without restriction,
closer to a limitless ever enveloping power than any mortal.

Breed me a man slewing monster,
a shape shifting skeleton reaper,
those that fear this untouchable being,
this godless singularity,
fear the very will we wish to contort,
constrain,
control,
but a demon answers only to that of it’s own greed,
no man may quiet its roaring,
its heartless contortioning.
It’s an angel without a heart beat,
a cadaver with a taste for its own flesh,
make me a monster manufactured under every roof,
we’ve got too much human to feel.
Aug 2011 · 1.2k
Cutting Anchors
Devon Baker Aug 2011
Cut the wire words tethered to my tongue,
A resemblance of a schizophrenic’s,
If Death walked sullenly, could we run
Scream and scatter, cleave off limbs to lockets
The burdens and blood plump things that slow us,
What’s of organs to living always,
Ever existing to face away from
Shadow and sun, cut way the instruments
Of muscles congealed among movement
Fatty slabs and raw bones weighing our hold,
Just fleeing, blood draining to keep moving
Just a few more strides to flee unholy
Death near lingering ever encroaching,
Lop off all just to stray, till left is the
Soul on shoulders, welcoming judgment day
Aug 2011 · 984
Black Day Lullaby
Devon Baker Aug 2011
Man holding hatchet to head
Building the chairs that scrape the clouds, angels scream
You eyes sing, crow felt fleeing, the raven spells out Ave Maria
Bellows out symphony, lover weeps, stains every blood white sheet
Man weighing upon the ceiling fan, lover screaming, 
Mother you're still pining, ever rotting, I'll carry that soul 
As best a drummer boy could, as best an infant would
The loss never gives, it's the shadow that falls about the floor
Man broken about shattered cloud, you were the wall to this darkness
I died in nights of weeping, rotted amongst the paper and pills
Mother cease to sleeping, demons much more than verily creeping
Boy brushed in bladed silver, blooming in rose pedal pools
Death grip me tight, death guide me to sleep tonight
Death lead mother gently, death is all left
When nothing's right, love kiss me goodnight
Break me now and ever
I'm a ghost gone forever
Aug 2011 · 7.0k
Psychopath Devine
Devon Baker Aug 2011
Sickly might,
cravens and craving demon drooling bite.
That fleshly flaunt of fool and privilege,
he burned to smoldering.
Lapped his blood from crowned jewel
and corroded golden spires.
The lost cadaver,
pride driven manicured demon of self
driven greed and godly hunger.
Such as fiendish that ******,
the sulfured serpent,
tis a sickened beast in dread black suit,
raffled in silken red tie
it's but the psychopath's blood smeared human hide.
Crave the flesh,
tear and splatter the soul from within,
fiends of fantastically practiced to perfect parallel smiles.
They'll slip your soul from the bars of your throat,
reap every inch of the body's hold.
Steal friendships to lips,
lives to hips,
slurp the killing,
seize the blind weeping cold.
You've got nothing not to be swept and stole.
Soulless has a studded luster,
but the ****** socio bleeds liquid sins,
bears fangs plastic wrapped in blades,
human game is the psychopath's *******.
Aug 2011 · 972
A Standard Killing Spree
Devon Baker Aug 2011
Slaughter with fangs that love to incise, 
lust to ring and roar
plastic zips that smother too tighten,
feast on hindered breath takings. 
Pull to gorge against their blessed soulless upbringings. 
It's not terrifying,
not bloodless lucid heart beating, 
steal the latest last of,
butcher and reel till the crazy flees in fear. 

paint splatter smiles,
hang harlot blood stained baby childs.
It's long love lost lusting,
just a carousel killing ride,
a manslaughter ****** scene,
mask me a demon,
kiss me a rotting rose.
For fledgling sake hand me the last shotgun blow.    

Breathe me a reason not to die.
Aug 2011 · 1.1k
Ghosts die Fiends
Devon Baker Aug 2011
It's not hunger for flesh to matter,
glucose and life.
It's a feasting pain for soul,
it's emptiness between ribs,
lungs torn in fold.
Christen me a black hole, 
cardiac's no response to a dead soul,
ghosts haven't a say.

please it's no compatibility

please me with fangs,
fashion thistles and ripping implements,
non-human descends always to the fiendish of gruesomeness,
bloodless and monstrous.

Haven't a prayer,
haven't a soul,
haven't got a vessel to scream 
wretchedly home.
It's best to let demons lie,
let spirits die,
burn out our dying phantom cries.
It's to feed the slaughtered
with platters of blades and bullet shrapnel,
ghosts give,
ghosts speak,
ghosts don't truly wish for a living peace.

Please may we take a taste of rifle barrel,
please just a second helping of buck shot
and spoiled brain splatter.
Bless what we become,
all ghosts eventually become undone.
Aug 2011 · 957
Death's only Orphan
Devon Baker Aug 2011
I'm not here,
nor there,
not truly tangibly anywhere.
As transparency slithers about my veins,
i'm  phantom,
silent deathly.
Eyes carry and lurch black holes
to quicken about the pupils.
It's the faceless death that paces about you,
rests against your blooming breath sitting next to you.
If I cradled the malfunctions,
misplaced to mutilated insides
about my criss crossed shoulders,
wingless back of blades,
death will but flutter in resemblance
against my skulls frame.
Transperce,
unravel about the living,
wings of dust reel,
I phantom of deathly....
a faceless orphan forget me.
Gods got no place for the dying ghostly.
Aug 2011 · 1.5k
Nuclear Going Away Party
Devon Baker Aug 2011
Blades may cut me,
the bullet shrapnel bludgeon me,
it's but the apocalypse bomb shelling
that's going to **** me,
a godly hell of nuclear bluster.
It's the kiss of Death,
a *** of demon and savior,
I’m no son of man,
but this boy's doomed to die
under the batter of Armageddon.
It's not postmortem till blood's but vapor 
and atoms are melting,
I'm tolling the Ferryman
not till it's Hell on Earth
and my birthday candles are eradicated
in nuclear holocaust and human DNA dust.
Aug 2011 · 724
It's a Ball Room Massacre
Devon Baker Aug 2011
Please **** with your lace gloves slick to tightened,
plaster your lips with a gentle smile,
homicide's just another ball room dance,
you got to make a good impression.
You got to sweep and rake them from their feet,
spin their breath across the room
for all to see.
Dance with an eloquent air,
cut with the demon's envy.
It's just another party
of a masses blood and cheers,
champagne and of all respectable tears.
Devon Baker Aug 2011
I'm a bomb set to a different drum,
combusted to an unhumanly beat.
It's not you,
it's Death,
it's fantasy,
it's you because you're me,
i'm the insanity splashed in red
against your plumage skin.
Explode to resist
tongue at my edged
tip's a tack of misprint words scattered to letters,
it's masterpieces shattered
on the holy savior's skin.
i'll beat to a new theme,
breathe Death's lips spindled on teeth so forlorn to lost.
I'm only pretending me to be,
them to redisplay
we's got issues beneath paper flesh
feels of oceans and drummer boy beats.
It's insanity me
and we speak of for angels plague days of night
and stars a light,
oh it's good,
it's so sweet as infinity's drink.
Immortality's a price for mind
and motions never could keep,
i'll take to crazy under body so age untouched,
years of bitter-sweet.
I'll lose mentality before i die with serenity,
die in minds eye before I and us,
we and them die to God's rule,
perish in fire beyond the grasp of Death's savior hands.
I'll bite bullets before Death could ever catch.
Devon Baker Aug 2011
It’s a MAD dash when you’re fleeing
through charring flames,
a haniss act as the flames boil over and spill,
rivers spewing from the windows
gaped open wide like screaming jaws.
Smoke bellowing,
chanted shrieks and harrowing screams
fanning flame with the flaccid breath of the young,
just hopelessly I’ll bring a new worldly suffering.
It’s but the glistening flicker of the bright blaze
and flamboyant gleam
scaving about my slithering grin.
My eyes smeared and polished,
a senseless joy embedded beneath them,
as house to building, 
innocent to sinnly collapse bathed to ash.
It’s but MAD,
watching a maniac
watch a maniac
which just happens to be you.
Fleshly clothed,
spectating the world’s ******
into the salivating mouth of the flames,
tis but a hospital or an orphanage,
a school to a home.
The memory of the twinge and tickle of 
a match head flame spiders about the finger tips,
pawing at the urge.
One more blazing build couldn’t hurt.
Aug 2011 · 2.7k
Playing Arsonist
Devon Baker Aug 2011
But the arsonist in a world of carpenters.
I’ve got matches at the salute,
wired blazoned between my every ashened knuckle,
heart beat furious
I’ll be this worlds iron furnace.
Their flames dance and sprawl
through flaunted finger
and slide of hand,
I’m the psychopath
and these flames children to command.
I dwindle fractured beaten to broken
hardly live to bless lips with breath.
I’ve but one choice,
to torch this world to a forever neverness
or stumble shadeless,
a shadow to brush past life to exist to view.
Always wishing to make a difference, to move, to make new.
Aug 2011 · 807
Purely Human
Devon Baker Aug 2011
Feast on frenzy brawl brazened claw
and cartilage fluttered all about,
it’s but the silhouette of the human self.
****** as simple and pure,
bleeding to bludgeon breath,
ghastly horrors of driving metal steaks
into the sullen degrade of a humble man’s chest.
The sickly of emotional fluid and flaw
thieve God’s breath,
but to glutton against
the flagrant screams of innocence.
We hollow corpses scatter beneath nightly flesh,
hunting out merciless.
Tis a gamble of ticked finger and claw,
just the opening of our manslaughter ball.
Aug 2011 · 680
Under the Weather
Devon Baker Aug 2011
There's a cloud bellowing beneath my chest
cradled in fingers to comfort and support.
It's wandering,
pouring a scarlet flush of blackened blues,
embers and pales.
Lightning skips and dashes
into an eternal never land where my heart lingers,
in a storming wasteland
my mind no longer attempts to figure.
There's a happiness,
and an empty chest,
a storm dances and shears,
it's cloud at home between breathless lungs.
I'm under the weather
with a thunder storm buried beneath this chest.
I'm under the weather in a heartless storm,
the umbrella trembles and curls.
Snaps and wallows,
broken and swaying between my bloodless palms.
There's a day break,
a sun's glimmer in all this wake.
There's a smile,
engraved in glorish cloud,
there's a storm and it's pouring down.
I’m under the weather,
a cloud aghast i can wait for this storm to pass.
Aug 2011 · 1.1k
God’s Little High
Devon Baker Aug 2011
If Happiness is a contagious drug
then I’m sure I’m hooked and high,
where'd the sad flee off to,
when did the falling sky stop crushing my lungs.
I’m for sure that the air's flooded and barraged in fantasy drugs.
If God's got happiness in a needle then I’m in the bathroom,
plunging my thumping veins of cyanide in my happy suicide.
The air's thinning down,
lungs collapsing
rooms running round and round.
I've got the trigger twitching up to heaven and space,
I’ve got the barrel lodged against this perspiring face,
guts to glory life to lord
I’ll blow the universe sky high,
never to see,
never to hear,
never to know fear.
The roulette's spinning a Russian game of life or death,
I’m lost in conscience,
high on **** and happiness.
Give the word my hands a twitch set to snap,
scoured to tense,
there's nothing left, but these dreams of bliss.
A heresy of contused and flowing light,
day dreams illusion sugared sweet in an infedimine delight.
Pull the switch assign my soul to lasting high,
take my crackling mind for one last ride.
Aug 2011 · 727
But a Phantom to Forget
Devon Baker Aug 2011
When I’m dead like here and now.
Like before and present, as I’ll always be portrayed
wound within the fabric of my birth.
I'll stammer through the phantom beastly of society,
as I always have I will phase
beneath the day's skin,
flower and splatter
amongst the phantom passerbys
and click my blooming tongue
behind your blind ears.
And chant one lasting whisper
against the back bristles of your shivering neck,
my breath pluming against
and within your porous skin.
One lasting, one altering statement or phrase or acknowledgement
I give shackled in the chains of a gift wrapped present
within the corridors of your perking ears
and there to be unpacked.
You as every other soul will misplace my memory,
will forget as a ghost dissipates against the breeze.
I was never anchored here,
indistinguishly as the phantom I am composed of
I may sputter the words farewell,
farewell only to be met with farewell and forget.
Farewell as my pattered steps flutter within the distance,
dead as here and now,
dead as my unlasting memory.
I exist as but a farewell.
Aug 2011 · 920
Cursed to Be
Devon Baker Aug 2011
Cursed boy why does your smile not drag,
those eye lined blisters not drip.
Those tears of anguish and heart
only slip to disappear.
Jinxed child do you wish for a home
a place to go.
Stay here bellowed in me
here in loveless limbo,
I'll deject the disease
illuminous beneath the vein.
Here we can stay alone
in this curse of loss
and loss once more.
Curse we feel abound
spinning on life's forever wheel.
Aug 2011 · 522
Doomed From Birth
Devon Baker Aug 2011
We’ve lost all hope,
this world is doomed beneath the weight of the Sun
and there’s no one to blame, but the human race.
Happy Birthday depression
crawl behind my eyes and stay awhile,
you’re always welcome as the moon kisses the sky and the seas beat the sands,
you will live on and for eternally.
And I your heartless servant will accompany you to Charon’s dooms day ball,
as the skies bleed hail and spew flame.
Live till the second draws near,
wait for Death’s knocking and succumb.
Pause for the darkness within the skies,
but do not shield your wilting eyes.
Live cause life’s an experiment,
birth’s the hypothesis and death our conclusion.
Mix the possibles and live the unbelievable as our puzzles piece,
and meaning becomes believing and thought, action.
10 minutes to go, what life am I gonna show.
Aug 2011 · 774
Nature’s Rest
Devon Baker Aug 2011
The swaying willow I tremble against wares at my frail touch, as a feasting night engulfs my every heaving breath. Death’s narcotics stain my drying lips, his battery acid blood lurches deep within. Eyes so drunk and wasted in my delirium, I arch in silent utterance with soaked face, beaten to ruin and bathed in sweat. So profuse are death’s nails, as his jagged claws vice my throat shut and proceeds to punish. The willows motherly skin catches a broken man. My fading face sludged in midnight and secret poison, collapses to the tree’s aid.

A precious night flickers in earnest, as my legs so shredded to numbness lie idle to my aching lungs. The goddess tree cradling my deteriorating spine and worthless flesh hovers as a spirit dissipating within the mist of a blanketing sky blazoned in studded stars. Her curling hands inch soft and delicately across my broken chest. Each loving finger tip sliding across every cracked rib and shattered muscle, lulls the pain to rest soaked with her motherly essence, as milky dreams flood and cloak the skin.

My dying lips parched of life, and stolen with deaths hands struggle to speak with agony accompanying every cloudy plea. Murky eyes glazed in silicone and oil stare onward into a dazzling frenzy of florescent stars and godly galaxies, dancing for one person. And only one person, the worthless wretch dying beneath a motherly willow. The empty soul slumbering within this rusted machine and in the rush of this chaos, of this leather fitted pain. My soul will
rest in the elegance of Mother Nature’s name.
Aug 2011 · 676
In the Seas Mist
Devon Baker Aug 2011
Air stained in a bitter salt hovered through a mist grasping the calming shore. My eyes squinting at the light spray of sea and wind curled as you, the figure fading in the mist, took to hollow steps as the sands, grey and moist, softened at my feet. The waves pounded as beats ragged, like drums chorusing behind my ribs. You the phantom, the girl lost at my company and forgotten within my reach was feet away. The sky a mass of gray and storm tore at my clinging feet. Footing gave way to pristine silence as I began to take to heaving steps clothed in a metal cloth.

Feet away you the ghost, shimmering in paling skin and flowing hair, halted as my steps grew. My sand cloaked hand flew toward your image begging you to succeed to move, to walk from the shadows and dimming mist. Your paper face reveled within the erupting mist, like a frightened child trapped at safety’s door. The shadowing waves grew ravaged fangs at the tip, and bristles at the turn.

Refreshing mist choked out the sky like a blizzard smothered in ash. Our cries reverberated within a starling chaos, trialing as your eyes grew blue, and my heart dripped black. Our arms met like birds lost at storm and sea, as echoes ravaged between you and me. Arms shielded backs as hands gripped shoulders. Our faces buried within each other’s skin, as death’s silhouette sailed through the flowing mass of black sea and pale sand. Your frantic skin shook at death’s chilling touch, his hand wrapped at your shoulder was still as the moon gapping in the sky. His form moved as the mist and his lips whispered silence into your perking ear as the rain. Nerves softened as arms withdrew and, like a phantom heading in the mist, death left me and took you.
Aug 2011 · 1.2k
Cannibal of the Night
Devon Baker Aug 2011
Cannibalistic are the teeth jagged in curl and grin. They grip fastened between gums of grime and sin. They prey leeched to toys strung under webs so few. My fingers creeped between their eyes so suffice and blind.

Like storms choked in stark sky and drying rain, my views christen and bloom. Eyes bleached gold, lavish the corners donning streets and side shop. I myself lark on apartment edges and strewn roof tops, balancing death and door bells along my crooked spine. Wide faces swirl in faded lights along morbid streets blazed in night. They the oh so happy and innocent leech the drinks and sway the narcotics. Hand on breath, tongue on tip. It’s so heart full to stare from the roofs so grimaced.

All words muddled in dread, lick their rosy lips, as stare catches the late night shift. All the blossomed couples curl and constrict in arms so selfish I must keep edges sharp and dull in bliss. Balance sways in dim, darkest are the days flattering night and cursing day. I wait amongst the walls above wavering innocence to demand. I shift on roofs so frail and wary that life seeks no bounds as the heights do not scare me. I will slip feudal in their creviced minds, but merely of pity to all their credible crimes. Here the world cries and here the cannibal lies. I break to be broken, but never to die, only to fall within the world’s eye.

— The End —