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epictails May 2015
Your bright smiles disquiet me
Something sinister lurks from behind
Sneaking, watching over anything corruptible

An angel
A precious one
Deceiving kindness
Seductive charm

Winged back, fair and pure
Feathers grimed with lies
Oh, I know better
I know your hands are tied to strings
Of puppets which ran
The carnival
The game of manipulation

Whitewashed gown drowning in knives
Hitting two birds with one stone
First, to stab the backs of those
Who made the mistake of trusting you
Second, to slash the pockets
Of those fortunate, enough to be
Unfortunate at your hands

The halo is a burning bush
Bringing in believers of your staged miracles
Pulling them into a greedy covenant
Until such time you can push them off to Mt. Sin

Twisted angel,
I've got you figured out
Twisted angel,
I can see you
Twisted angel,
Careful for I can twist your tricks
Just like how you twist everybody else
Idek if your friends are really your friends or your benefits bank
epictails May 2015
I am bleeding
Clear skies turning ghastly and grim in my hollowed eyes
The fever in my brain wins with every vanishing second
The blank pages of my barely written story
Stares at the vacuum that weighs me down
The pen moves not once in my cold hands
As tears washed my loneliness
Tonight, I write for myself

The words have turned against me
Gaping wounds I often revisit
Raw, unadulterated, ever vulnerable
Fuel the art of this damnation, of this craft
I ask them despite the broken voice in my head
What more do you need?
Life is poetry, poetry is life
But it has cut too deep, deep, deeper
I am burned too harshly by the words
It has opened newer, fresher wounds
Buried secrets, once unknown become known,
I come facing old adversaries who never left

Soon, my own words will destroy me
What I started, the ones I raised in my fragility
Will shred me into pieces as they take everything I have

*Worst of it all,
I will stay still and let them
The curse of loving and hating what you do
epictails May 2015
We're in a perpetual rush
Racing to our deaths before we even know it
When was the last time you looked at yourself?
Or at the wind fluttering the leaves?
Or the sun filtering through your windows?
Or the gentle rise and fall of a baby's breath?
Or at the chaos and beauty of  everything and anything all at once?
Only to remember the deadlines and time counters
the world has thrown at us

Living as if we are being caught with the chains of an invisible force

Time's a tyrant that has killed us even before we are truly dead
Going round and round the loop of history
Reviving the past but silencing the future
Slaves of the clock's dance
Anxious for the encore and finale
But never thought to praise the show


Uncovering only in our very last breaths
That the empty pursuit has
Made the least of ourselves
"Clocks slay time... time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life." -William Faulkner
epictails May 2015
Once upon a rainy night, in that grim forest
You ripped me apart as I submitted in heavily pleasured agonies
For though it was a beastly affair, you laid love in your prey's hands
Shall I say Stockholm syndrome?
epictails May 2015
Talk too much
Listen too little
No wonder we're all worlds apart
epictails May 2015
The dunes in his heart are in a storm
Parched, dry as a land he was
All thoughts wander to her, the oasis to his deathless drought
epictails May 2015
The world is at your feet
what more could you need?
sparkling wines in crisp displays,
golden tickets to fame in pricey arrays
the high life is your muse
stocks flying up and down the top news
shopping the globe with just a flick of the finger,
you've turned swell at the expense of others

***** and women quite too loose might calm you down
after the inevitable crash you go back as the society's clown
with the very last of your pride going stale
and everyone mocking your sorry tale
bear it, you are defeated
this was the life you created
as you filled the gaping void inside of you
with the aimless throes and desires of
one who is disgraced, of one who sought
himself in everything that the world
could foolishly offer him
Lost my energy to write despite making this at 3 am in the morning.
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