The scent of sin
Is ripe in man,
Yet the vision isn’t there.
The scent of sin
Rains burning sand
Yet the sinner fails to care.
The scent of sin
Consumes the land
For at nothing does it halt.
The scent of sin
Is spread by hand
For they build top pillars of salt.

A boldened king
Shall take his stand
In a kingdom to be broken.
The fate holds true
For whistling winds’
Prophecy was spoken.
The southern prince
Will turn to face
The fort of his own land.
Though he stood tall
He’d surely fall
And perish by Earth’s hand.
In his absence
His place is claimed
As to the Earth he’s bound.
And much like his kingdom’s future,
True,
His body shant be found.

Welcome to the land
Beyond the coastline of the sea
Where we read poetry
Under the light
Of the moon.

Welcome to the world
Where as far as god’s decree
Words are written
Just for flowers
To bloom.

In this inky place
It’s found
All that’s written
Has no place to die,

And as the blotches
Fill the page
We find there’s
No time to cry.

And so we read,
And read,
And read,
Until we fail to see.

All just to write,
And write,
And write,
Until we cease to be.

I’ll tell you the truth,
Your world will break.
All you had thought you had known in your wake
Will fall apart,
And in the end
Your broken heart will fall.

I’ll tell you a lie,
Your fate holds true.
Everything which you had thought you had knew
Will lose its stride,
You cannot hide
From the cacophony of calls

From the end
Of the Judgement Hall.

The Dove, it flew,
Passed those it knew
Whom lived to hunt its hide.
Creatures give chase,
Each with great haste,
The Dove, it lost its stride.
It meets its end.
It missed the bend.
They hear the fledglings cry.
They need not chase,
They meet the base,
And the Dove loses its pride.

With the Dove dead,
Its fledglings fed,
To creatures of the night,
Covered in red
They rest their heads
Completely in delight.
Its spirit fled
By death it’s led
A story not so bright.
Its legacy said,
And sin it’s shed,
The Dove had lost the fight.

The Raven flies,
But just to die,
For the children that it bears,
Bit of the hand that fed them
In a land bereft claimed fair.
A world where god bids all to live
When they say “If we dare”.
A place where all that was is not,
Yet The Raven does not care.

The Raven, dead,
Its children fed,
Its life, long forgotten.
Covered in red,
They laid their heads,
Leftovers, ever rotten.
With its soul fled,
The life it lead,
Its memory now shotten,
The land it left ignored its death,
And upon it grew soft cotton.

I feel forgotten,
I feel lost,
I feel the rotten,
Burning cost
I had to pay
When I lost faith
In the rock
That held me still.
Blade pierced my bones,
My foe reproached
Dailily unto me
“Where is thy god?
Why cast ye down?
What of disquiet in the?”
Atop the sands
Lean on my hands
And begin my ascent to the surface.
“A valid question,
My soul, my friend.
I suppose I lost my purpose.”

I looked at nothing today.
After an hour
It asked,
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
I, of course, didn’t expect this.
I thought I may have
Been staring at someone on accident.
Though, It was just me here,
And I suppose someone else.

Another hour passed,
As I continued staring at nothing,
And suddenly, I felt eyes
Right connected to mine.
-They felt spiteful.
“Doesn’t feel so good, huh?”
“I.. suppose not,” I said.
So I blinked.
I regained focus on the
Darkness in front of me.
Weird.
I looked at nothing today.

In room 214B
As far as I can see
Stuck in my mind,
And my bed’s binds,
Lacking mental affinity.

Respiration is a curse.
My mind just makes it worse.
It creates these tiers
Of endless fears,
And inspires my every verse.

I know my life is ending,
My heart has not the mending
It needs to live,
And only gives
Away the time I’m spending.

Can’t waste my breath on crying.
All hope is only lying.
I hear my fate,
Outside he waits,
As the strings of fate are tying.

So in room 214B
I’ll know, by Death’s decree,
I’m out of time,
So I’ll write my rhymes,
Awaiting my darkest infinity.
A void that steals my humanity
In room 214B.

Ideas flow
Through my head
Like voices.

When I write,
There are many.
A group.

In the dark,
There is one,
Alone.

When I work,
There are none.
Void.

But when I sleep,
They are one.
Log.

The Lifter,
Up.
He questions,
Up.
He wonders
Why
He lives.
The Lifter,
Down.
The top.
The falls.
The end
Of rope
He pulled.
Grab hold.
Look up.
He sees
The top.
The Lifter,
Twice,
He falls.

All are made of porcelain-
Or on the surface, at least.
Like masks of glass,
Where beliefs pass,
Leave hidden truths bequeathed.

All are made of porcelain,
Their fragile faces strong.
The truth, it hurts;
They lie the worst,
Yet nil be there all-ong.

-Eat of the Fat.
But for why?
-Because you have to feed.
Drink of the sweet.
-But for why?
Cause your gluttony is greed.
-Save a portion.
But for why?
-Because your fruitlessness is nigh.
-So save a portion.
But it’s mine.
-Then all of them will die.

I remember it all, actually.
More than I'd like to have.
I remember waking up to
The scent of breakfast
I’d soon find was made for one.

I remember walking down
The stairs to lock eyes with you
As you were opening the door.
I remember the feeling
Of dread that crushed me
Under its weight as
I understood your gaze.
I don’t remember being sick.

Even though you were gone,
I remember the dark shade of
Canary that reflected from
The plate in front of me and
Tinted our home.
I don’t remember the lights being broken.

I remember hearing your voice
Call me from our room.
I remember the sharp ringing that
Endlessly reflected off the
Carpet walls of our home
Despite the silence.
I don’t remember picking up the fork.

I remember when
My senses returned to me.
When I was cured.
When the lights were fixed.
When I put the fork down.
I remember the
World refusing to warp any longer.
I remember the scent of
A breakfast made for one.
Your final gesture of kindness.
I don’t remember deserving it.

I remember sitting.
I remember eating.
I remember the
Overwhelming taste of guilt,
The taste of wetness,
The taste of salt.
I remember the taste of
French toast.
Though,
I don’t remember crying.