I.


I heard the words of two madmen
Telling me how to move through my recovery
And preaching on how to drink the prophetic nectar
For the cost of nothing but theoretical change.

I am clay in the hands of revolutionaries
Whose only violence was the execution
Of antiquated ideas,
Whose only wishes of censorship
Were rooted in the antiquated lies
Of their fathers before them...
The murderers of creativity.

The sermon I seek to follow
Is that by which the world
Is viewed through thick purple lenses,
And the glory of God is poured
Onto the landscape of life,
And into the souls rejecting the uniformity
Of selling each other for profit.

I'm sitting in the abyss as I claw madly
At the darkness for a companion
To share a hint of my humor,
The same humor I was told I sculpted
Out of invisibility.

Caffeine has become insufficient
For the sort of altered clarity
That my garden is planted above,
And I fear a Californian drought
Is about dry out this east coast.

I pay no mind to the geography
That you do not trace with your footsteps.

I pay too much mind to the geography
Where I last witnessed the lights strike your face,
And the reflection of your eyes
Signaled that I would soon walk out of Hell,
And lose sight of what kept me comfortable.

I am at the doors of eternity.

I must hallucinate you now,
With all your perfection wrapped around you,
While the water we aren't exploring yet
Is pulling you closer to every equator,
And yet, no farther at all from me.

I will define the pantheons above me
And I will blame every deity in due time.

You gave the lecture
That art was what encompassed our being
And you didn't have to convince me.

I know this connection
Better than the strongest adhesive,
But you failed to realize
That you are the pinnacle of art,
And all I can hope to do
Is make a proper interpretation.

Orbit around me while I try to make sense of you.


II.


You are a catalyst
At the heart of my poor decisions.

I should make a subconscious effort
To cast you onto the plane
Where I cannot fathom your existence,
And where poverty will enrich my wealth
As I forget you completely.

I have seventeen odes in my library
On the death of honesty,
How you won't forget the spell she cast,
And how it will always ******* up.

We are the victims of regulation.

You are the poster child
For the sin that is routine.

I am the bearer of standardized hatred,
And I will carry my burden through your castle,
Ruined with all the marble that you spend all day polishing,
And deciding your priorities, so stoic in nature,
I sentence you to burn in my place.

I turn my back on your eyes of monarchy.

I will bomb you, Empress,
By living without spite,
For how you asked me to punish you.
I couldn't comply because you knew not what you request.

I assure you I'm not impressed.

You cannot be placed in front
Of the collective firing squad,
Which inspired my cruelty long before
You decided to give up on me,
But your innate courage and arrogance
Still led you to make demands...

I severed the communication
And realized you never understood a word
Despite how you would mimic my words,
And demanded my affection
Without mind to the physical impossibility.

A clear proponent of solipsism you are,
Which is why you did not care to victimize me,
My executioner.

You tried to be merciful,
But merciful to yourself,
Slicing deeper into my disdain for you,
Sending the love of my miles to the guillotine,
And realizing you were imitating my constructive confusion,
But had no idea of how to contain it.

Perhaps there is a case for experience,
And my years among the madness.


III.


Evil in each of our hearts,
Yet the structure in the deepness
And darkness of your scorn
Has turned into torment for me,
And that's why I declare you alone insufficient.

You were so eager to profess how eloquent I was sounding,
Yet discredit me because I was a vacancy.

You knew I was *** without a body.

We had no rendezvous,
And you lied and said it was okay,
While staring over your shoulder and back at me,
And onto the assembly line upon which you told me I was an interchangeable part.

You alone told me I was free to wither.

There's an old power in my ear
And she knew her sway and influence
In telling me I better not die,
And that's where you truly lost me.

That was the moment where I knew
We had no future.
Elliott would be without his chance at life,
And the irony was enough to dissolve me then and there.

I have another select few words
And not all of them are clever anymore.

I do not aim to make you laugh,
Your conversation would not fulfill me.

I assure you I have a physical being,
Which cracked in half
At the resonance of this foreseen abuse.

You swear that it was the antiquity in my thinking,
The naivety in my convictions,
The loyalty and sense of commitment you had shed,
Yet aimed your flare cannon of ambivalence
Straight into my throat,
Forcing me to refuse my last supper.

I was sitting next to Kerouac,
Not Christ.

The sanctity you hated was a lie,
To clarify my sins.


IV.


You warned against dreams
Of planes plunging into the Willis Tower,
With steel supports weakening,
The hum of death tuned to eleven,
And the separation between us
Finally, finally expanded
In the only way left to do so.

My heart was in your casket.

You died along with endless dreams
Of fermented talent shows,
And the needles at which I cringe
Before they plunge into my eyeballs.

I awoke to your hand reaching out to me,
And distorting the constraints of modern linear time.

I felt your hand on my head
While you were dreaming of a metropolis.

Plotting was the only strong suit in my arsenal
And I had all the reason to believe
That this was the third winter,
And the world would not endure much longer...

Or perhaps it would endure without me,
Through some form of Utilitarian sacrifice...
But you were never a Utilitarian, sweetheart.

It was never in question.


V.

Stolen away,
And silent.
This hammock holds
So much more than my physical being.

I smashed my head
Against the ground
The night it opened up
And took me.

Hell was clean and orderly.

You told me to straighten up,
Without the slightest hint of irony in your voice
When you were trying to sound persuasive.

You are accidental
Down to the root of your purity
And there are canyon echoes
Shouting in both our heads tonight,
Begging to be put into action.

Gold lines my room,
The shimmer will keep me up.

You left candles lining my room
At the very moment you denied the angels
Which are buried inside my desk.

Lies were coating my eyelids.

I had to throw my common sense
Into the noxious dust storm
That you so tenderly termed eternal love...

And somehow it seemed like a holy deliverance,
Like I wasn't just clouded by serendipity
But that the oxygen was only now flowing,
And that this was meaningful.

You had to be the only genuine human
From a state which perpetuated superficial *******...
But for every ounce of encouragement
And tear drop of genuine compassion,
You confirmed that you were no better
Than a parasite, craving blood I did not produce...

The evolved leech you are,
You ripped yourself out
As to let me, Odysseus, have breath.

Very considerate
That you took the time
To throw me into the Thames,

Knowing I cannot swim.

We will all drown in solitude,
The peace is all that is optional.