Thou shall finally be revered as that of commonality in the menace of living.

A staple of humanity's misdoings and a trademark of all we've done wrong.

tell me i’m crazy,
so i can feel sane.

liquid prism,
daydream’s current

drifting softly,
a bed of satin ribbon

hardening breeze
windy shifting

a dark river
darkening, heavenly pool

storm cloud’s rhythm
thundering fear

raindrops beauty
the gentle battering drums

brilliant flash
strands of light beams

rolling rain moves
to the rocky ocean’s grasp

mixing hatred
a cage of waves

deep blue prison
the nightmare’s paralysis.

with a constellation in your palms
you'll mold the universe as you wish

you are untamed, an inkwell of hate
that you spill onto everything good

hands of aybss, you covered my mouth
and then you silence the child of space

darken nebulae, and drown the moon
you camouflage your hateful misdeeds

scrape the stars from the heavens above
and sweep away their cosmic beauty

**** off supernovas, galaxies
or anything that is beautiful

but when the quasar still outshines you
you can’t stop me from starting to speak.

intoxicate the lively soul with lies
the obedient will stay grounded,
and the thinkers they shall then pulverize

for mindless madness drifts
falsehoods become candid
and society rifts

nobody knows the bucolic
so humanity must be
holometabolic

so when bumblebees eat their kin  
and butterflies drink blood
i’ll engage in our guilt sin

insecticide
suicide

How shall I endure
the ineffable waves of dolor?
Can this apotheosis of hell be dreed?
Will the unquenchable flames of dread ever be conquered?
Whether by the hands of man
or by the temptation of sword against vein.

To bite your tongue
and choke down blood
is to live a selfless life.

Some aren't as lucky
and drown in their secrets
and they are called selfish

for not being able to do
what others don't have to.

‘love is a game’
then let us play charades.
I’ll play the part and sing the song
in elaborate masquerades.

If immortality is granted
that shall be the day I die.

For if living has no finish line,
why must I run at all?

Impunity of reality

Thou that have been purified through
deafening and blindness,
shall perish under the weight of the world
when they’re senses are emancipated.

To ******* your spawn with the lies
of success and meaning
or to shield them from injustice
is as harmful as belt upon back.

sempiternal memories
flow like a river
the resting brume on misty waters
twisting into the distant offing
the mellifluous melody of the ethereal past

like thunder above songbirds,
the illusion dissipates into a weazening
idealistic falsehood, an optimistic masquerade
the thrash of lightning onto deciduous skeletons
awakens the truth beneath

as the roaring flames erupt
the leaves effloresce to ash
the halcyon lies are swelted
into no more than gentle dust
the endless turned ephemeral

Why make goals of gold
and grandeur and fame.

When we all live to die in
flesh and bone.

If I was supposed to
be defined by grades on
a paper, or by words in
a dictionary

I wouldn’t have
been born human.

If I was supposed to
be confined by margins
on an essay, or by stars
on a flag.

I wouldn’t have
the ability to create.

If I was supposed to
be defined by hatred
to my name or by my
disgraceful past.

I wouldn’t have
been born me.

with a lead bullet dancing in my head
i’ll send the petals flying
onto the tombstone where which i lay
with shriveled lilacs dying.

dormant my figure shall wait
under the snows of winter’s rage
beneath the dirt i lay.

i will turn from flesh and bone into
daffodils and daisies.
the blooming of my corpse

i will be left forgotten.
down here within my coffin
i will be left
rotten.

Regurgitating visceral insults
and spewing out vile barbs.
A danger to all around.
A pipe bomb,
building,
inculcating,
and storing away
immense pressure
until I
e x p l o d e.
And you will see me for the destructive force I truly am.

bad habits
the normalization of disfiguring one’s self
a daily roadblock.
a bountiful collection of poor decisions
that i’ve lined up upon my wrist.
a bile curdling hatred of my fading wounds,
they are the only ones that stay.
bad habits

if you give a kid a match
they will learn to start a fire.

sitting in the shower,
pellets of rains sculpting despondent
woes.
the melting faucet,
the oppressive mist
the calescent tears.
you barely notice the water rising.

the toxicity of my own sentiments
is viscerally disgusting,
i know I deserve death

i'm a chainsaw upon trees,
oil upon oceans,
shadow upon shade


my thoughts are grueling
and the world is yelling,
‘do not take another breath'

so once i think my last thought
and write my last stanza
the world will still turn, unswayed.

Asphalt memories and concrete cries.
These cracks of life, formulate most of my thoughts during these bland journeys.
The most interest in these cobblestone pathways lies in the occasional determined dandelion or **** that manages to pop up through the stone.
The mundane life of such a plant never fails to amuse me.
Despite all the efforts, all the work, these ragged stocks of green persevere, but as soon as they thrive, they perish.
Turning into no more than a sickly brown line on the pavement below.
    The weeds aren’t what brings me down these roads, however.
My life manages to be even more interestless, and boring.
I wander back and forth this path, every single day, wearing away the cement that brings me to these stainless steel buildings.

However, I’ve reconciled with the crisp morning strolls, for the night is much less forgiving.

    Sometimes the streetlights bend, twist, wind, and twine with the tears that form in my gaze.
The streaks of sorrow that trail down my face as I leave to go home for the day.
Macabre figures dance in the background of my distorted vision, chasing me down in the dark.
I wonder whether or not this is my imprisoned imagination, lashing out at me.
Starting a war I never asked for.
Maybe.
The thing that is brave enough to bring me an ounce of sanity is the waxing moon,
rising up from its shadowy imprisonment.

the way to numb the pain.
love is the novocaine,
the laughing gas,
the painkillers.
the mind melters
it takes your greatest aches and lets them disintegrate.
once love leaves, it decimates.

the pouring of acid into my skull,
the song of searing sadness
burns in a boastful boisterous blaze.
lonely leeches lavish my love
removing roses and riches,
and turning treasures into terror.
echoing emptiness etches erratic emotions
and cremates the cool calmness.
wander, worthless worms
and dare to drift into a daunting dream.
alone.

I’m a traveler of
your moonlight smile,
your oak tree eyes,
your warm wind voice.

The flicker of midnight forests
that light up your gaze
and reflect off your face
leave me in a daze.

I’m an explorer of
your alternative personality,
your shoreline attitude,
your sour citrus punchlines.

The melting aroma of black licorice
surrounds your being
and drifts from your hair
makes me feel at home.

however
you are
not my
home.

my family is an impasse,
captivity for self-growth.
like a chick without a nest,
i refuse to catch flight,
and leave our inevitable
downfall.

my home is deadlocked
a battalion of misguidance
and an army of adversaries.
i refuse to fight
and flee from our explorable
defeat.

my brain is a stalemate
a seemingly premeditated homicide
with terrific envisions of the future.
i refuse to reunite
and save my mind from its inescapable
demise.

chastisement towards myself
for every time i falter or stutter,
for every time i can’t control
my cauldron of sizzling insanity.
i reprimand everything i ***** up
everything that do.
rebuke fills my body
whenever i wake up,
whenever i continue my worthless existence.

the shorter the poem,
the clearer my mind

poetic promises,
metaphorical truths,
and hypothetical honesty.

the wordsmiths easiest task.
turning lies into agreements,
and unfaithfulness into oaths.

the most sacred souls,
become unknowing hosts
to manipulative malicious varmit,

once the host is broken,
the devilish parasite moves onto another,
leaving the purest of people

damaged,
destroyed,
and
demoralized

i’d bow to the dirt you step on
i’d worship every atom that makes you
i’d take pay to breathe the same air as you
i'd give up my all bliss in hopes of acknowledgment.

i'd never talk to you again if it means you'd be content
i'd watch you love someone else if it means you'd smile
i'd lose my mind if it means you'd giggle
i'd bleed my last drop if it means you'd laugh.

i'd do anything,
but alas
you'd do nothing.

plucking petals from the center of a daisy.
the satiny texture of life.
breathing in flowery delight.
twisting the pure ivory teardrops between my fingers.

crushing, grinding and squishing it into a paste.
the stunning flicks of winsome memories,
turned to shredded affection
and self-loathing.

the bitter toxins
still, sting wounds of battle,
however, the knowledge of that daisy's deadly sickness
will continue this painful war.

it hurts so bad,
plucking out the petals that lay around my heart,
to remove my feelings for you.

and I will learn to tread forward

the twisting, winding, twining godforsaken roads
the endless forked paths.  
through muddy thickets,
lush undergrowth,
and soggy marshes
I wander,
and I will learn to tread forward.

the dismal, interminable, harrowing roads
the treacherous pathways
that lead straight to death.
through unforgiving fog,
cheerless sunless mountains,
and on the footprint of war
I plod,
and I will learn to tread forward.

unearthly, obscure, eerie roads
the traumatic passageways
that bring memories of the walkways before.
through the eye's rainstorms,
shrill heinous screams,
and across the self-fought battlefields,
I limp,
and I will learn to tread forward.

I will always learn to tread forward.
-

I am no longer aware if this is
a raspy cry for help,
addictive scarification,
or a self-sadist's first taste of happiness,

And through the hills and down to the valley to find a place to nest
the warblers,
the songbirds,
and the wrens alike.
Feathered avians here and there with a song they’ve known since childhood.
They chirp and they flutter,
but I shriek and sputter.
They tweet and call,
but I cackle and fall.
When face to face with flocks of gorgeous birds and their equally breathtaking tunes,
I’m often left to wonder
why I turned out so grim.
Was it the way I was born?
The nest I grew up in?
Or was I never supposed to be
the agile, effortless creature
everyone wished me to be?

My life is like a train
It shutters and twists
It screeches and howls
From place to place.
From country to city.
It tries to escape the path made for it, but it will never be free.
It feels as though it just wanders alone.  
It feels as though it will never be over.
It feels as though it’s going too fast.
On and on it goes.
It sees countless people
But does anyone stay?
No.

a cognitive dissonance
a mental static
an emotional monsoon
an undistinguishable amalgamation of uncertainty and ambiguity
the subdued symphony of my severing sanity
plays a deafening, intrusive beat
in the background of my life’s outrageous orchestra.  
i’ll never escape my own hellish purgatory,
my mind.

the hapless cries of my long-lost self
i’ve left so far in the past.
the unsightly girl,
who couldn’t stand up.
the pitiful love-struck gear,
turning round and round without a care in the world,
little did she know that within the upcoming years she’d begin to finally question her place in this infinite machine.
this infinitely,
never ending,
turning
contraption.

out of all the beautiful, vibrant, vivid colors
i am a bland, dull, uninspired hue
between the words in a book,
withered, dehydration grass,
or the color of a summer hare.
however, i’ve been told that i was once creative,
rain twisted oil spilled on cement,
poppies in a mid-afternoon sun,
or the tone of a summer goldfinch.
i wonder if it was the sun’s rays that desaturated my existence

on the chessboard of life,
i am no more than a pawn.
a fruitless tree in an astoundingly vast orchid.
a candle that lacks a wick, a flame that never flickers.
a hypothetical being without a purpose or plan.
the hypocritical brute, who is fattened on self-grandeur and sick off narcissistic thoughts.
in the dictionary of life
i am no more than a punctuation mark,
a mere dot on a piece of paper,
trying to clarify the stew of words, flung together by an equally trifling author.

the drip drip drop
of my leaking love
the tune of emptying emotions.
the longing in my heart,
the lonely in my chest,
spilling into a solemn lake beneath me.
like gasoline, it sits cool,
nothing
seems to
happen,
but as soon as that puddle sparks
i can feel myself burning ablaze.
the drip drip drop
of my melting, burning love
the cackle of a lost battle.

the cream-colored sky
mixing with tangerine essence
a circular fire flickers at the bottom of a darkening horizon
mellow gusts twirl the earth’s luscious fibers
the tang of serenity fills the heavens
whilst the shadowy darkness emerges, ready to swallow the land whole.

-
In the dark lay creatures.
They are neither good nor bad.
They lie dormant for day, weeks, months, years just watching.
And that is how they will stay unless you dare to close your eyes.

They’ll drag you away,
gut you,
and hang your remains to dry.
They will gouge your eyes,
smash your skull,
and break your bones.
They get intoxicated by your screams of agony,
high off your pain,
and drunk on your anguish

In the dark lay creatures.
They are neither good nor bad.
-

the tombstone.
the shallow marker of death.
a block of stone that calls itself meaningful.
a pitiful rock that lays above the corpses of the long forgotten.

Romantic fuzz.
In the aching void that washes through my brain.
Incomprehensible feelings,
that mess with my mind.
***** with my relationships.
And drown out the clarity.
If only I could pull it all together,
and make out what the static buzzing is trying to tell me.

control is a rich red hue,
control is warm, and deep.
it’s a destructive power,
and a stinging force.
a delicate line
between pain and serenity.

control is a rich red hue,
control tastes metallic.
like a cog in a machine,
and it comes around like clockwork.
a jagged dash
between insanity and knowledge

control is a rich red hue,
control melts like wax.
it evaporates within seconds,
and it dries within moments.
a recalcitrant scratch
between delusion and control

Little white lies paint the clouds in the sky.
Turning the sunset into cloud cover.
Turning the melting colors into a blank, empty canvas.

a phenomenal, extraordinary prism
the refraction of white light,
turning something into nothing.
i wish i was a prism,
for at least then i could create
artistic pictures
and breathtaking visuals.

four-dimensional thoughts.
senseless thoughts.
the kind of emotions you’ve never experienced.
the kind of thoughts that make the leaves change colors before your eyes
the kind of thoughts that make the tide drift away and never return.
the kind of thoughts that drive the most stable people insane.
the feeling you get when staring at the bottomless sky.
the feeling you get when faced with bottomless love.
four-dimensional feelings

Oh, how frivolous death truly is.
I no longer fear the quietus that will one day consume me.
Death is no more than the punctuation on the end of our tragic tale.
It's no more than a remedy for humanity.
Humanity is the grossest display of intelligence.
The most grotesque example of curiosity.
To call our species remarkable would be a scourge upon the word.
We taint the very things we love,
and incubate hate.
I take great umbrage in knowing my meaningless existence was spent as a human.
The contumely we have towards ourselves is enough to shed light on how excessively horrible we really are.
I am engulfed in wanhope,
infected with despair.

the girl who stirs the fog.
the whispy liquid air that swirls around her feet.
the cold caresses her dew covered cheeks.
the evening’s drooping cloud cover whispers in her ears.
the mellow sting of autumn's wind laps away her tears.
the misty vapor pivots around her gait.
she drifts delicately across the open plain,
was it her thoughts that brought her here?
or was it the simple joy of inhaling cold frost and exhaling warm smoke?
the world may next know about the girl who stirs the fog.

if the sun chose not to rise,
would you blame the stars because they continue shining?

her body was a prison, she could not escape from.
a life sentence of hideousness.
each mark on her body perpetuating her to
spin and whirl
and dizzier and dizzier and dizzier she got.
even though she was sickened by this feeling,
at least she couldn't focus on the all things she hated about herself.

My heart becomes undiscovered lands
a fragile ecosystem.
And all of this heartbreak make up a whirlwind of invasive species.
Creating havoc in my world.
My tears become rivers,
my rage form mountains,
my emptiness creates valleys.
If you monitored my hearts beats you'd see every crag, aerie, or tree.
You'd see how this emotional torment ruins me.