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Mar 2017
An injection of self, a reflection of self
Orphic explosion, in this brain of mine
I touch the sky, my shaman-self lifted
To realize some kind, of undefined divine
My soul wants to soar, although some parts to plod
Among the grey citizens of order
Dull thumpers of the one, dull god

(And as I come to fear, the night, boredom
And my internal extremes, the hyper-brain
Says β€˜enjoy this, though it ends in a crash
You were dead before, so live and fear not death’)

Somehow free of the hate that claims others
Oh those self-defined, self-refined prisons they create
Only to lament their loss and deny their place
In the ranks of bile, and spite and hate
Maybe to cloak themselves from the leviathan-machines
Which provides their plenty, as the global south screams
Their ****-eating hypocrisies, judgemental non-philosophies.
And I have landed among their pretention, problems hidden
Beneath the rug, the armoured iron carpet
That supports the weight of their bloated heads
And blood-drenched souls.
Written by
Nyteshade  Hellsreach
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