Within fluttered winks and falling tears
shaking hands grasp on
porcelain for forgiveness

            He or Her
whichever one prefers

Draws towards a shattered mirror.
A Face, Flush and Pale
Sanity, long set for sail
Into the storm. A storm ment to flush not rinse.

A swirl taking with it skin, ***** and blood
They begged to get rid of it
But refused to look back and fix it.

As the narrator said, shaking hands grasp porcelain for forgiveness. Tis be true.

With knuckles black and blue
and complexion changing hue
The sickness of self, hovers above the zenith of reality but stagnant in a hole of the One who has dibs on OBSCURITY.

Repeating to self
"This is the sickest form of past aggressive grieving"

With a thousand mile stare into the shattered mirror, one notices a hundred forms of self. All are gushing from the eyes and spewing from the mouth.
Nostrils nothing more than mangled cartilage. Bashed by the perceptual reflection of a late night monstrosity. Hundred times over, knees begin to buckle. but those shaking hands. Those shaking hands grasp to the porcelain for forgiveness.

Veins exposed
Running nose
Breaking news for the commonwealth..
or shall we say, the "Common Health"


Nobody to help this poor soul
Caged in catatonic infamy, not unlike the wrapping of wrists where fists are broken from being kissed. Kissed by Love and Doom. All cheer for the bride and groom, falling hatred seeping into spilt Will and separated spirit. Shhhhh only evil will hear it.

Psychotic laughter humming within like rising vibration. Chaotic Clutching to consciousness like a tormented soul. Reality based filling... Mouths grimacing at the foul stench left in the sink. A darker side hides, saying Drink Drink...Drink!

but lets make things clear, SHALL WE

There is no mirror!
There is fear in the dumbest (unaware) form,
The Form of Deformity,

a sweet link to robotic  conformity. But after that Death Dance let us all raise a glass! and TOAST, to the brightest buyer in technological advancements! thundering applause to follow, carving the dimwitted completely hollow. The clever and bleak shall wear their skin and do a dance in the creek.  splashing and slashing for the crowd to play hide and seek.


LETS MAKE THINGS CLEAR!!!

Existence is "I"
There are no games
No metaphors
No explanation
No frustration
No trust
No sympathy
No society
No justice
No absolution
No bias
No sacrament
No parliament
No DILITED SPIRIT
No REASONS TO FEAR IT
NO SUBSTANCE OR AFFLICTION
NO VICTIMS OR ADDITIONS
NO PEACE, WAR, OR VENOM


....ah hem....

Allow me to make things clear...

"There Will Be Blood"