Age Of Apostasy

I was born with the sun shining upon my skin
I was born into a world saturated with sin
pestilence shone, through his void grinned
for the second I broke from the womb the sky above dimmed

birthed not from a mother but a sick man
my coming heralded an end, the age of apostasy began -
those I loved killed by the evil inside
cursed by a Devils backbone, there was no where to hide

[but inside their minds]

now I live with the beautiful people and their screeching cries
I avoid their clumpy fingers, their black empty eyes,
vying for flesh and choking upon lungs of rubber
floating with a ghastly gracefulness that makes the north wind shudder

[bullet wounds
gunshot holes -]

with the devil inside I know only fear
knowing nothing of love, my soul bedridden and queer -

[maggots and live thriving
between fleshy folds]

in the distance a woman cries, piercing the silence like a bell

surely that can't be -
surely that can't be the scent of *** I smell?

Alas 'twas only wishful thinking, my pretence playing unfair,
the beautiful people finally had prey and were stripping her bones bare -

ruthless, ecstatic, bodies twisted and vile
clutching strips of flesh only then did they laugh and smile.

The Beautiful People & The Mannequins Of Plague

I walk amongst the beautiful people
hide my face within the shadows around,
with lungs of rubber and skin that's latex
they drift about our world without a sound

[so deliciously dark
twisted and vile
they grin from faces ghastly
rotting and puerile]

formerly they were perfect humans
whose selfishness strived for more,
so they re-constructed their bodies and faces
using skin harvested from the dead and poor

[bullet wounds
gunshot holes
maggots and lice thriving
between fleshy folds]

organs replaced with mechanical components
immortality sewn together with surgical stitches,
greed and jealousy bloomed inside our narrow minds
thus we began practicing the work of witches

but the stolen skin rotted upon their ancient bodies
leaving their yellowing, pestilent, bones bare -
to defy death plastic and rubber were used as replacements
but of mortality they were now forever aware

[clumpy fingers, bloodshot eyes
midnight dreams plagued with their shrieking cries]

for upon the pursuit of immortal living
we lost the people we once used to be -

now I flee their hungry gazes and grabbing fingers
living only with empty shadows for bittersweet company.

The Beautiful People II*

I add insult to injury and bleed into the glass
they've starved this world and left me 'til last,
only through alcohol and drugs can I truly escape
but now I sit here knowing it's all too little, too late,

I tried curing them with injections of compassion and remorse
alas they only mocked me with smiles that were forced,
with greedy eyes that lingered upon my untainted flesh
'twas clear their resentment was caustic, broodingly fresh

hating their bodies and all that could be seen
so precociously perfect, but with souls disgustingly unclean
infected with an obsession mutating into disease
humanity swallowed by the cravings they strived to appease

they are the Beautiful People, yes I have spoken of them before,
but I must mention their ghastly existence once forever more,
for now I have been abandoned in this world barren and dead
my body digests itself as my nose and ears drip red

I'm not well, my skin has grown pallid and lumpy
my fingers twisted, knobbly and clumpy
they scream in the night, they scream in my head
my mind polluted with the paranoia the drugs have bred //--

[come with me, take my hand
I will lead you to the promised land]

wind howling, breathing heavy, lazy
visions of hope going increasing hazy //--

oh please-

please-

listen to me before my conscience fully dies

whatever you do //-


DON'T LOOK INTO THEIR EYES!

I sit with my back against the wall
exhausted by the life I have made for myself
why should I live these days fearing
of becoming something I'm not?

The sullen future ahead boasts as much promise
as the shadows around me do now
hope opens occasionally like a crack in the wall
it's false pretences just as cruel as its absence

I yearn for a high but he gives me a low
seems I am the only one God does not love
but then again why should I be surprised
I am unlovable after all

a birth mother caustic and warped
burning any happiness my father ever sought
wounds over 20 years old alas the pain still stings
cue the sister carried away upon Angels wings.

Ever watched the word burn before you?
It's beautiful to see all the ******* perish.

Here am I sat alone in the dark
as the black ****-stain of my life plays out
seems I am cursed to be this way forever -

oh lord is this play going to get any better?!

Stop the world, I wanna throw up.

Laughing at his broken glasses, tattered clothes
they pelt him with gum and chewed up pieces of paper
name-calling; "Hey stupid! Stinky! Queer-boy!"
such does he retreat to the world inside his mind

it's utopia there, a place where
he need not worry
he can draw out his own history, control time, create sprawling vast cities
that the caustic breath of reality cannot touch

school the bane of his existence, a ****** minefield
the army of bullies seems infinite
but for each juvenile his imagination ignites
creates another heroic warrior to stave away the pain

[always one to be misunderstood
creative confusion running through his blood]

parents exchanging concerned looks
as he spends night after night immersed in books
absorbing the creativity, the literate equivalent of gold
he took his heart to passion's feet whereupon he sold

never one to rely on such a farce as hope
breathing even with depression grasped 'round his throat
20 years old, once again escaping to that distant faraway land
standing bare foot under a thousand suns and crimson sand

---

he sits where I sit now
confused, life as complex and transparent as always
but with eyes grateful, fully open
able to see the beauty that lies within life's darkest obscenities

even the horrifying can be beautiful

if one can truly gaze into its gnarled face.

Smoking his cigarette, a gold signet ring upon his finger
a complete antithesis to the other dead-ringers,
lips pursed, sipping at his golden liquor
in his eyes dancing excitement does flicker

diagnosed with cancer, he's re-living every dream in his head
for on the eighth day of this month he will be dead -
out and about, picking up ladies at the age of forty
days from kicking the bucket yet his libido still naughty

waking up on the sixth day with the first hangover in 10 years
the bloated pain distracting him from his fears -

no kids, divorced, a total loser
living the life of a player and a scheming user

alas, he'll never feel the wind upon his face
never again have the chance to experience love, hatred, anger or even disgrace
never see the kids he didn't have
never again able to make a decision - be it good or bad

and now sitting alone in his apartment as the eighth day looms
he burns the money in his wallet, exhales their fumes

"I'm... so sorry..."

his signet ring stained, still uncannily gold

attached to a finger now lifeless, stiff, cold.

THE THIN WHITE JOKE -

A martyr to love you can hear his cries
killing the joke he's always despised

bruised, battered, bloodied, broken
dwelling in the void where hope is woven

here are we; oblivious, transparently caring
blind to the torture at which we're staring
fooling him again, injecting pleasure into his silly brain
you do nothing but smile as he grows insane

what is it I should feel now
loss, anger, sorrow?
Is it normal to feel this uncaring
fixated on starting again tomorrow?

Here am I
eyes flashing in fury but without thunder
hot bathwater rising up my face
ears blind to the world I slip under

nothing but the muffled beats of my heart,
at first she was interested
but in bitterness now we part -

the 12am chimes call shrill and loud
in the pale lover's abyss he can be found
a figment of my ego, he's cold, pallid in state
stealing innocence he twists and pulls and manipulates

dressing in suits and designer attire
luring any woman that takes the time to admire
ignorant to society, forging his own fashion
dangerously devoid of any emotion or passion

sick from the sleep deprivation
sick of waking up with eyes bloodshot red

he collects the souls of his many lovers
sipping at their lives as their bodies lie frozen dead.

- THE PALLID BADROCK LOVER -

It's cold and dark but he no longer cares
probably safe to say he no longer feels
the lights are turned down dim
no sound 'xcept the wheeze of the wind outside

the walls are bare, at emptiness he stares
you only realise what you've lost when it's gone
nothing but half drunk cocktails and *******
within his callous pale facade he hides

what's done is done, but never forgiven
he gave it all, all of what could be given
they spat it back, threw it all in his face
now here he rots in isolation suspended in disgrace

conniving vultures they tore him apart
ridicule upon ridicule lashed upon his heart
bought them diamonds, gold, anything a woman could ever need
rather than love they acted out of jealousy and greed

---

once there were birds that sang at the start of every morn
right outside his bedroom window
oh how he regrets their sudden passing
their joyful tweets made this world seem so kind

now he wakes with a head crippled, a face tightly drawn
hunger being that of gnawing addiction
caring for nothing but the *Caviar and it's forbidden magic
helping him leave all the pain behind

guided like a train to its next station
total self-destruction his only destination

languishing in drugs, *******-out ***
that it was all his fault I guess
the Pallid Badrock Lover will never accept.

- THE FINAL STATION -

There he sat at the Grand Piano smoking a joint
eyes eclectic blue, narrowed to a point
a lover in season, expressing attraction in rays
woman after woman falling under his gaze

[Oh here are we, transparently caring]

shirt casually unbuttoned, chest bare, white
radiating beneath his own spotlight,
thinking he's adorable, pledging their hearts to him
with the grace of an Angel he takes them in

[ignorant to the torture at which we're staring]

a masochistic shark of society devoid of a fin
addled with ******* and getting under everyone's skin -
cutting with words sharp as razors
thanking the Lord and his many ******* saviours

hammering away at the keys he sings a song of pure devotion
whilst sorely lacking in any physiological emotion
failing to see beyond this act, succumbing to all he may ask
it's only when the drugs ran out did he accidentally drop his mask

only a quick slip but a slip was enough
the smooth facade suddenly becoming corrosive and rough

backing up from the devilish contempt that had flickered through his eyes

the crowd around him exploded in startled cries

a thin white joke he cares for nobody but himself

forever dwindling into the abyss of eternal ill-health

with a crashing bang he threw his glass to the floor
erupting with anger in a blistering roar

reaching
chasing
hands clenched into fists

laughing in the face of death he blows it a kiss

["ARGH!"]

falling to the floor

clutching his chest -

heart suddenly stopping dead and, well,

I suppose you can guess the rest.

*RIP

There he sat at a Grand Piano smoking a joint
eyes eclectic blue, narrowed to a point
a lover in season, expressing attraction in rays
woman after woman falling under his gaze

[Oh here are we, transparently caring]

shirt casually unbuttoned, chest bare, white
radiating beneath his own spotlight,
thinking he's adorable, pledging their hearts to him
with the grace of an Angel he takes them in

[ignorant to the torture at which we're staring]

a masochistic shark of society devoid of a fin
addled with ******* and getting under everyone's skin -
cutting with words sharp as razors
thanking the Lord and his many f^cking saviours

hammering away at the keys he sings a song of pure devotion
whilst sorely lacking in any physiological emotion
failing to see beyond this act, succumbing to all he may ask
it's only when the drugs ran out did he accidentally drop his mask

only a quick slip but a slip was enough
the smooth facade suddenly becoming corrosive and rough

backing up from the devilish contempt that had flickered through his eyes

the crowd around him exploded in startled cries

a thin white joke he cares for nobody but himself

forever dwindling into the abyss of eternal ill-health

with a crashing bang he threw his glass to the floor
erupting with anger in a blistering roar

reaching
chasing
hands clenched into fists

laughing in the face of death he blows it a kiss

["ARGH!"]

falling to the floor

clutching his chest -

heart suddenly stopping dead and

well,

I suppose you can guess the rest.

It's cold and dark but he no longer cares
probably safe to say he no longer feels
the lights are turned down dim
no sound 'xcept the wheeze of the wind outside

the walls are bare, at emptiness he stares
you only realise what you've lost when it's gone
nothing but half drunk cocktails and *******
within his callous pale facade he hides

what's done is done, but never forgiven
he gave it all, all of what could be given
they spat it back, threw it all in his face
now here he rots in isolation suspended in disgrace

conniving vultures they tore him apart
ridicule upon ridicule lashed upon his heart
bought them diamonds, gold, anything a woman could ever need
rather than love they acted out of jealousy and greed

---

once there were birds that sang at the start of every morn
right outside his bedroom window
oh how he regrets their sudden passing
their joyful tweets made this world seem so kind

now he wakes with a head crippled, a face tightly drawn
hunger being that of gnawing addiction
caring for nothing but the Caviar and it's forbidden magic
helping him leave all the pain behind

guided like a train to its next station
total self-destruction his only destination

languishing in drugs, *******-out ***
that it was all his fault I guess
the Pallid Badrock Lover will never accept.