Dreadful.
Trying to be everyone's clown
While feeling an anchor of reality drag at my guts.
Face paint drips around saline rain,
But everyone sees the drawn-on smile
And joke that my mascara's running.
Lucky mascara, I think; wish I could, too.
Perhaps I'll cry out,
Wipe off the face,
Hope that everyone sees it this time...
But there's already a crying clown across the street.
One with a shinier soap box...
And nary the burden of effort to show for it.

The frigid air catches in my aching lungs,
Catching in my throat much like it did that night.
The fate of those who fell was determined by their lies;
I'd strike them down again were it not for their stilled tongues.
And through all the contempt, I'm in no way contrite;
Despite all the spite, I dispose those I despise!

The frigid air slows the blood in my veins;
Muddy and murky like the stream beside the glen.
That glorious site where I buried all they'd hope to be,
Because brutality breeds more until nothing remains.
Honestly I can say I'm the happiest I've ever been,
The pious peons I put down: a delicious catastrophe.

The frigid air burns my blood-stained lips,
As my wind-chapped cheeks tug with vicious grin.
Recalling the frozen chosen who would be my one true reason,
I cast my gaze upon the sky, taking in the splendor of the eclipse.
It's true, what they say, about all of Summer breeding sin,
But in my frozen wasteland, I can't blame the season.

We drift along on broken math,
Guided by a razor's path,
Into heightened stages of personal lows.

We force half-cocked purpose--
Self-proclaimed surplus--
Into the crusted womb of eternal truth.

We lace love with hatred,
Defend that "It's what they did,"
And use this logic to do it all again.

We wear electric faces,
Succumb to a digital stasis,
And let binary become our very blood.

But rest assured we care!
We shall combat despair,
As soon as our erections have gone soft.

We detest the rest--
******, WE'RE the best!--
But genuine success is just too hard.

We shall commit to change.
It just need be arranged,
Around our favorite television shows.

And so it goes, though no one knows,
Into the record books:
The reign of man--a pain to stand--
Just a dynasty of schnooks!

The Rise: powerful.
A great reminder of self.
Reflection of Fall.
Don't let it hold; not today.
Please, just keep going.
Propulsion: drive to break free;
Free of the Fall's grip--
Freedom for another day--
And another Rise.
Momentum: back in the game.
The cycle renews.
Driven back to the top now.
Unstoppable now;
Greater than ever before!
Rise above it all.
Look down, laugh; never again.
This Rise is THE Rise!
Never falter; never fall!
No, never again!
Not now that there's--a new doubt:
Just the potential...
Just the possibility...
Momentum plateaus--
It was too good to be true--
Momentum fading.
Should have learned from the last fall;
Should have known better.
Momentum's lost now,
Don't let this Fall be the last.
Reflection of Rise:
Let it hold; another day--
Please, just one more day.
The Fall: unavoidable...
The Rise: powerful.

We welcome you to the Shadow Realm,
Where we’ll show you how to feel.
So say fare-thee-well to all your flesh,
There’s those who like to peel!

We’ve seen the holy sin.
We’ve seen the just descend.
We killed in the beginning,
And we shall **** until the end!

Welcome to the Shadow place,
Where not one wound will heal.
It’s not your soul we’re after,
It’s the rest of you we’ll steal!

We bathe in blood and tears.
We relish in your pain.
We’re aroused by all your horrid fears.
Your madness keeps us sane.

Welcome to the Shadow Realm,
To where you’ll come to rest.
We ask that you have a heart,
So we can rip it from your chest!

We’ve made strong men crumble.
We’ve made fighters fall.
We’ve made runners stumble.
We’ve done it all.

Welcome to the Shadow Realm,
Where none have dared to tread.
Our roads are paved with polished bones,
And adorned with severed heads.

We cackle at your torture.
We chortle at your grief.
We caress your insides with our tongues,
And feast upon your teeth.

Welcome to the Shadow Realm,
Where we **** your every joy.
There is no chance for you here,
Where your organs are our toys!

So settle into mayhem.
Get cozy with the strife.
Say ‘hello’ to torment,
And say ‘goodbye’ to life.

Welcome to the Shadow Realm,
Where we show you how to feel.
It’s on no map nor tour nor cruise.
It’s your fear that makes it real!

And so you’re trapped in the Shadow Realm—
Where you’ll be ours ‘til the sun burns out—
But since we live inside your head,
You know what we’re about!

In the walls and under the floors.
They creep.
Up the stairs and through the doors.
They creep.

In the forest or in the street.
They creep.
Padding along on silent feet.
They creep.

They’re the scourge of all dreams;
The source of all screams.
They flourish from our pain.
These terrible frights
That plague all our nights.
They’ll leave you completely insane.

They’re the thoughts that make you tick.
That make you fret;
That’s their trick.

They’re the scourge of all dreams;
The source of all screams.
They flourish from our pain.
These terrible frights,
That plague all our nights.
They’ve driven us insane.

They creep
They creep
They creep
They…

He wears his smile in his pocket.
Where no one else can see.
And since none have seen him happy
They’re convinced he’ll never be.

His laughter’s in a fist.
So tight, no one can hear.
With no joy in his voice at all,
They’re sure he’s filled with fear.

All they see is torment.
They don’t look for what he was.
All they see is torment.
Nobody ever does.
All they see is torment.
They’re not sure what the cause.
All they see is torment,
And all his other flaws.

The world’s so filled with judgment.
It won’t stop to find the good.
But when time is so ****** precious,
It’s a mystery why it should.

All they see is torment.
His soul’s as dark as night.
All they see is torment.
They can’t see his plight.
All they see is torment.
All ignore the fight.
All they see is torment.
He can never set things right.

Two lips met in the forest,
Sighing South and heaving North.
They prayed with words unspoken.
Drinking in the dried tears of sated loneliness;
Chewing 'pon the swelled pride of ancient lusts.

An ethereal plume drives the dew-soaked petals closer,
Until neither root nor stem can discern their place.

Two lips met in the meadow,
Singing East and chanting West.
They pursed with anxious anticipation,
And parted with baited excitement,
While the ghosts of lovers surfed upon their hums.

Two lips.
Are as one.

Ivory seeks ruby,
Scarlet finds porcelain.
A dark curtain enshrouds,
As a bright light beckons.

Her stained lips quiver,
A kiss of death for an eternal life.
His glassy eyes flutter,
And all he can see is her.

She’s lost in her love.
Her passion: undying.
She takes from him everything…
While offering more.

He slips from her arms,
And into dark dreams.
And a ****** tear trails,
Down his sated lover’s cheek.

The air was thick with rancid hate as we squared off in the mist of night.
There was no words--no grunts nor groans--that oozed past sneering
lips. It was a rustic sort of torture; the time slithering between you
and I, as we each came to grips that only one could anticipate the
dawn. Oil stained the rain-soaked way; the alley shimmered in
the moon. I couldn't recall what had brought us there; what
ill-will we shared. And though your eyes shone with scorn,
I swear you felt the same. It was then the hatred started
rolling like a current 'cross my back; as though the
energy inside of me was fighting to break free.
I watched with eyes uncaring as the glass
began to break, and scattered bits of this
and that began to whip about! You had
never known me well enough to truly
know what lurked within, and as
your startled eyes betrayed your
fear I knew that I'd already won.
So much viscous agony--such a
glorious defeat--a body left in
ruin. I stared at what I had
done, awash in a morbid
optimism, and I saw the
shards of glass twinkle
under a cracked light.
Consumed by the
sight, I saw you
sink into a sky
of oil and filth
and eternal
blackness.
Your
own  
urban
starlight.

Let's break all the tension with the pretense of my presence.
Yes, I'm insensitive--but there's no other incentive others can give--
And while I'm not sure I could prevent it, I swear to no god I'm inventive!

Yes,
My hatred is incessant--ever present--and it's what I hold most sacred.
I'm a naughty narcissist with a nasty list of wasted kisses,
And I won't say that I'll miss 'em, 'cuz I'm the type who never misses.

I'm a hopeless romantic with a new sense of Tantric hope,
It's the antics of a frantic mind, but I'm too calm to cope.
They say I'm a raving, violent--rarely silent--tyrant with a craving
for the obscene,
Though, while I'm mean, I'm rarely seen within a mob or in a scene.

I'll admit I've got a streak, but--if you'd stop to take a peek--
You'd see a Buddhist, not a nudist, who's less a demon than a geek.
I'm oblique and I'm obtuse (do these math puns work for you?) yet I'm rarely never right;
Get my angle? Catch my drift? I might thrash, but, man, I'm thrift!
Hold on shift: I'M SCREAMING NOW!!
Don't know why; don't have a cow!
Remember that? That 90's rap? Look at me then; that piece of crap!
Shot down! Torn up! Shut in! Turned out!
Lips are sealed; inside I'd shout,
'Bout just how bad I wanted out!
Enraged and crazed; cravin' razors; a victim hiding from all saviors!
Turned to the pen to brace for the knife,
Started writin' and saved my life.
It's funny to say my life got better the day I started a suicide letter...

But letters turned to words and those words became whole worlds,
And before my very eyes a whole legacy unfurled!
I was GOD--not just a slob--but a shaper of all things,
And the schemes that I'd been dreaming shifted into scribing,
And I never stopped since then; it's why I'm still alive!

So my insanity became vanity as calamity turned to amity.
Sheer pessimism became untamed narcissism,
But if the mind's a prison then consider me jail broken.
Outspoken, re-awoken; take a moment to let that soak in.
That a boy doubtful of tomorrow could ditch the sorrow,
And become an immortal--though immoral, not totally amoral.

So yea, I've got my faults; I'm a sensory assault,
And while I don't mean to offend I'm just a product of the ends.
Played with fire; I got burned.
Dared to aspire; I was turned.
So I inquire to you sires as I march out of the fires:
You've seen my darkness and know my story--beginning, middle, end--
My name is Nathan Squiers, do you wanna be my friend?

Tangled in my own regret,
I can’t see through the vines.
I fight and tear and yet,
I’m far too entwined.

Tearing to see sunlight,
Though I’m already underground.
They strangle as they hold me tight,
And I cannot hear a sound.

Life’s a ******* ****
That refuses to be torn!
Flourishing from need
And choking all who’re born!

Trapping every creature!
Consuming every breath!
They drain everything that is pure
Leaving only death!

Life’s a ******* ****
In the garden of what’s pure.
Blindness is our one true creed.
And death’s the only cure!

When I go out each day,
Despite what I might say,
There's an immense rage--
A mental cage--
That just won't go away.

I keep it all inside,
Where I wish that I could hide.
'Cause without that net,
There'd be much regret,
And so much more homicide.

There's poison in the masses' veins.
There's torment waiting to be aimed.
And I see it in their eyes.
And while I wish that I could maim--
To reciprocate their ****** blame--
I guess I'm just not that sort of guy.

The sort of guy who gives a ****,
'Bout all those who they torment, it...
It's not something I'm proud to say,
But I'm gonna say it anyway:
I feel it when I go out each day.

I see them cry; I see them hurt,
And, sure, I go on high-alert--
I WISH that I could care for them--
But then I remember a time back when...
When I hurt the same and they...
They'd do what I do...
When I go out each day.

Now ask yourself:
*Am I that way...?

Look, I was gonna go easy on you not to hurt your feelings, but I’m only going to get this one chance!
Something’s wrong… I can feel it.
Just a feeling I got, like something’s about to happen… but I don’t know what.
If that means what I think it means, we’re in trouble—big trouble—and if he’s as bananas as you say I’m not taking any chances!

(You are just what the doc ordered)

I’m beginning to feel like a write god (write god).
Can all the readers out there who think I’m right nod, right nod.
Now here I am again for another rap talk, rap talk…
They said I write like a monster, so call me scribe-star,
But for me to write like a beast means I’m a demon at least;
I got a devil kept in my pocket,
On my shoulder’s when I rock it.
Talkin’ of killin’ and of thrillin’; won’t stop it!
Write a demon doorway, now knock on it!
Ever since the dark days when I’d just lost it,
Way back when the world would pace and chant “Nutcase!”
I’m a ******, but I’m charming;
Yes, a crude, rude dude, but I’m still disarming.
Using syllables to **** ‘em all with this
empowering empire of powerful vampires.
The writer-type clackin’ back with typewriters, like way back, right?
Clackity-clack!
Rockin’ stack after stack, clackin’ out more attacks,
Ideas tacked out while hacks hack out their crap (but ******* spew **** all the time),
so I perform written parkour tricks so you’re not bored; strike a chord.
Show you Stryker’s tortured life of suicide ‘n strife turnin’
to strength and a fiery passion burnin’ while readers’ guts are churnin’—
teary eyes all burnin’.
Their fears are returnin’ from a story I turned out when I got turned on
to my own life.
Now I drop F-bombs;
exploding real-life scenes—
these ain’t your G-rated dreams, so take your outdated themes—
It’s the **** I’ve seen; don’t make me obscene.
I’m mean, I mean, it’s my means to screen a scene between a matte sheen.

‘Cause I’m beginning to feel like a write god (write god).
Can all the readers out there who think I’m right nod, right nod.
Now here I am again for another rap talk, rap talk…
They ask me to thaw out these oily blocks called ink-wads, ink-wads.
There’s a body in everybody , but not all bodies have a brain that makes them feel sane.
Like a train—just the same—
Might be runnin’ but we still cast blame,
The loading docks of our thoughts; they’re locked-up in a box,
And they’re stackin’ up like blocks
That turn the stacks to empty tracks (****!)
Trainees blame their brainees when it’s not easy training brains, see?
But the boarding isn’t boring—training brains; not trading pains—
Remember: the station’s self-exploration!
Me? I’m a hodgepodge! From train station to abandoned lodge;
Bully dodgin’, fully locked-in when I freaked out, fattened-up and then I geeked out,
Told “keep it down” but then peaked when I peeked deep down.
Creepin’ up, now, and keepin’ up (WOW!)
I swear it up and tear it up scribbled swords,
And now I wear awards for slingin’ words;
Offered praise; a chance to forget about the craze that once darkened all my days,
But I write that way—say “that’s okay ‘cuz it helps me write this way—each and every day!
And hacks think I act this way just to seem this way, ‘til come the day when the cray-cray takes the doubt away.
Demon obsessed? I’m possessed! Can’t own what you don’t possess!
“Hey, devil-lookin’ boy!”
So ***** for my honey I’m rockin’ horns, look here boy!
A Literary Dark Mass-acre,
Like the devil laid waste to a church on the page, looker boy!
They got a gold star, and a high five,
Felt so alive to see their own scribes make it to Momma’s fridge, ****** boy!
Hey, schnook-ah boy, looky here, looker boy,
I’m held up by The Legion, book-it boy!
Had to push for every word—every page—had to swallow all the rage,
Now you want out of your cage, schnook-ah boy?
I’m legendary—literary—and you’re literally just a *****, little boy!
So sell out while I’m bought out, ******-boy!

‘Cause I’m beginning to feel like a write god (write god).
Can all the readers out there who think I’m right nod, right nod.
The way I’m burnin’ through these pages, call me Dark Lord, Dark Lord!
But they’d rather burn my books, so start a fire war, fire war!
Can’t get it through your head? Words are more than Edward! He’s dead! WORD!
Let me drag you off to meet Dracula; take you back to the dawn of the dark lord, yea?
Fast forward to the foreword where the F-word’s “fangs” (you’re welcome);
This is my Hell, come! Be free!
Part Morningstar; part Morpheus! I throw up a kiss and jot down the kills like they’re red-apple pills.
Go ask Alice back at my palace what you should read to feed your head.
Sentence structure so smooth they call me FE-line, and my cat’s got better plot lines,
That the hacks will all call “sublime” (it’s “sub-fine”)
But me?
My **** scenes are brutal,
And my romance? Not frugal. I don’t saturate—I arrogate—
But I don’t condemn my characters to *******!
I wanna make readers care—if readers dare—
To connect and feel and follow where they can find some hope and power there.
While also giving them a place somewhere that isn’t here—though filled with fear—
A place where they don’t feel jeered or feel weird.
Horror ain’t just movie monsters, or gore-****** scopin’ sponsors!
You speak French? C’est de la merde, monsieur!
You look unsure! But I have the cure in the written word!
And though you once were achin’ for a rockstar author cravin’ bacon,
The role has since been taken by your man, Squiers.
And like a pair of pliers, I can reach into readers’ brains and cross all sorts of wires!
I’m settin’ cranial fires behind the eyes of all my buyers!
And while I’m growing Ghost Riders—ridin’ shotgun on the bullet-train ‘tween the pages—
There’s a horde of haters harboring growing rages
With a narrow gaze of who scribes pages.
They say I can’t write ‘cuz of my tattoos or my gauges
So allow me to assuage this: y’all can’t cage this!
If you don’t like it, let me show you where the grave is!
You’re well-aged, but I’m ageless!
Like the undead through the ages!
And like Shakespeare took to stages you can find me where the page is:
I’m hip to a script, I’m at home with a poem and feeling groovy writin’ movies; and I’ll be EZ on your TV.
You write normal? **** being normal!
What a novel theory! So very dreary!
Why the **** are they so leery, they say “Writing fear? We don’t want to hurt no feelings.”
Feelings? Setting up ceilings! Just more limits! It’s life! Live it!
Set the roof on fire!
Plot is getting hotter than a 24/7 squatter on a ***** channel!
So what if some **** gets a hair up ‘er ****? Don’t make it ****!
They wanna say “Hey you, we’re here to stifle!”
‘Cuz I mentioned rifles? Do they really want to trifle?
So I say:
“Better bring a sweater ‘cuz this thriller’s gonna chill ya—sure hope it doesn’t **** ya—and ya gonna get’a fill o’ all the ***** that I don’t give, ‘cuz I don’t live to let ******* quip or give me lip about my lit.
I’m entertaining and elating and also demonstrating how devastating a stream of escalating scenes can be so penetrating—although frustrating—to a mind that’s celebrating what it means to be vacationing between the pages; wading through the stages of a war that forever wages; meditating through the escalations now that they know what TRUE rage is!
“Oh, he’s too ******!”
That’s right! Ain’t right. That’s life: not nice; it’s strife.
It’s not just me; it’s we.
I just found a better way to show it:
Monsters that aren’t monsters;
Abuse put to good use; bred virtues!
“I don’t know how to plot plots like that;
I don’t know what words to use.”
Did it really never occur to them that to read a book—just to take a look—and THEN take up the pen?
You read King if you want to be king, strictly speaking.
A writing mind that isn’t a reading mind is a weakling; a weak link.
I’m a scholar—not a bawler—so I’m a flyer where there’s fallers;
Raised on Goosebumps and Creepy Crawlers so I’d Stine while others whined.
Got a dark side, but that’s The Dark Side on my side; counter haters with my Vader:
“I would be your father… but your dog beat me over the fence.”
No offense. Pretense: incorporate comedy and film; common sense.
Suicide pushed aside, though I still burn inside. **** myself on
the page each day so my readers can feel what it’s like to be alive.
It’s okay to hide.
Only your own devil knows what’s inside.
I own mine; he’s my co-pilot when I write. My demonic side; my demonic scribe.
Flipping my words to the birds—‘cuz, you see, that’s how I wing it—and flipping the bird while I throw down and sing it:
“Tiger, Tiger, burning bright,
My words are my roar and tonight I write!”
The fights are in your sights like you were seated inside a movie theater;
You’d see Xander and Estella—wouldn’t you want to meet her—
Have a front row to the creatures in a feature presentation…
But ‘til then
Eat some Rice An’ read a piece by a man who
Had an “Interview with a Vampire”—
I’m a fiction author, why would I lie to ya?
Prince of lies? I ain’t Satan!
Close friends, but I’m Nathan.
Judged for appraisal—I’m priceless—I’m  nice: no; charming: yes.
Got a razor-sharp and Shining wit like a crown left
on a King… but not.
Why be a left king, when I’m a write god.

There once was a man who did cry,
While screaming “She’s dead!” at the sky.
And while it was day,
It would appear that way.
But with the coming of night he would die.

I'm sure you're out there hating all that I have become,
Cursing me and memories of all the things I've done.
I'm sure you're out there wallowing in the depths of I-don't-care-where,
I'm even sure you're chanting that all of it was unfair.
And while I don't feel I owe you a single wasted breath,
Allow me now to tell you how I came to bring you death:

As your lapdog I felt compelled to take you in my jaws,
And as your partner I was shackled by all those grueling laws.
As your master I was bored by every tear you ever shed,
But as your killer I was tickled by just how much you bled.
Can you see it now--should sight allow--what I never could foresee?
That only once, my tortured dunce, could you bleed enough for me.

I may spot you in the ether of the world not quite our own,
And you may ache to see that I have found myself alone.
However...
I've taken many others in the time that you've been gone;
Many who have served me well, so very few withdrawn.
These things aren't said to anger you, but just to give me peace.
I truly hate to plague my mind when my property decease.
Whatever.

As a mistress I was driven to see you beneath my boot,
And as an equal you were never intellectually astute.
As a servant you were lacking in the class that I demand,
And as a pet you oft ignored the rule of the feeding hand.
Through it all--'tween rise and fall--there was the alpha-sin, you see,
Because, darling, though I love you so, you didn't bleed enough for me.

The gated gap between us--built of miles and time zones--
Made you oblivious; so certain that you'd be blind to my wounds.
You cherished every rolling hill and stretching road that kept you alone,
But hills were climbed and roads traversed so you'd be consumed!

I'd nearly died so many times--my own hand my fated doom--
But you'd built your walls to lock me out, and barred away my cries.
Well, old man, now's the time to see you've only built yourself a tomb,
And that, while my words live on, it shall be your arrogance that dies.

Ignorant, old condescending fool; a rotting sack of wasted promise,
I've built my throne from the bones of the soldiers you've sent--
Your heinous words, you ignoramus ****, are a hymn to my success--
And I'm ready to break your spine (since your soul's already bent)!

Tell me now about your paints while I scribble with your blood!
Come now, dear father, come bask in your flood!

I'll open veins above you and reign with a rain of ink!
You think I'd be just like you? Here comes another think!
I'm twice the man with four times the wit;
All the grit without an ounce of ****!
Let me slit my throat on quill-pen tip,
And watch you choke upon my quip.
Your ***** are tethered to a weathered brick of bitter remorse,
While I conduct a mantra diction of contradicted course.

I won't say you're dead to me; you're worth much more intact.
While there's many who can fit the mold, you help me construct losers--
The fodder I write just to slaughter; I've killed you frequently, in fact--
So when I need a worthless sack of **** you're the one I choose, sir!

So thanks for that, you beatnik ****; I'll **** it on your epitaph!
And I'll do it all for free!
This ain't a vindictive son bellowing slander just for grandeur, no sir!
This is an oath to an old oaf that, though I can't remember your voice,
You WILL remember me!