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Let me tell you the thing that keeps me up at night
I’m manic
So I have a constant stream of vivid thoughts running infinite channels through my head at all times
What I fear most
What I am forced to watch in my head daily
Is losing those I love
Of again being that scared, alone, desperate little boy
Of being exiled once again to that slow drip drip sound echoing off the empty room of my vast universal mental prison

Every single day
I run scenarios of my son’s death through my head
Every parent worries about their child
Most are paranoid of such
I have it played before my eyes in realistic detail
I am forced to continually watch the most tragic moments of my life on a big screen in my head
None of which have ever happened

Everyday, a different death
Just once I wish it would be me
Why can’t I protect him?
From myself?
And once again I reaffirm
That his end, will be mine

I am so terrified that one day I am going to wake up and he won’t be there anymore.
That the only good thing about my life, will be gone.
And it will be my fault.

My son is my redemption.
Without him, I’m afraid I’d have to admit I’m just a terrible person.

I have to close my eyes
And repeat this mantra
“It’s not real.”
“It never happened.”
Am I real?
What is the dream?
What is reality?

What I fear the most?
That one day I won’t wake up
Ryan P Kinney Jan 29
My Dad used to say to me, “One day, kid, you’ll understand.”
He was wrong.
I never did.

God, I wish she was real.

by Ryan P. Kinney

I wish my covers would cover me
And hide all the pain
And blame and guilt and shame and blood
And tears and filth

I wish I could still pretend to be a good person,
A worthy one
This unfathomable loneliness
Peering into the void
And finding nothing within myself

I wish this bed was not empty
Like me
I wish the darkness would just finish with me
And take its crimson penance

I wish I got what I deserve
All dogs go to heaven
But this hounds hellbound
I am meant to suffer and break

I wish this song had rhythm and beat
So someone could dance on my grave

I wish I didn’t hate everyone
Almost as much as myself
I wish someone would touch me without recoiling
Without fear and dread

I wish someone some would say,
I love you
And were not lying
I wish I believed them
In anything
In myself

I wish there was a reason for all of this
But, I wish, more than anything
That I had the courage to make this poem better
Ryan P Kinney Jan 26
by Ryan P. Kinney, Aaron Shinkle, and Ohayocon Jigsaw Workshop attendee

The fall of man

It was the end of monsters
The end of mothers
The end of haters
Of lovers
Of pain and suffering
Of bliss and ecstasy

Nothing to hide under the bed
No terror floating in your head
Just the buzzing and swarming of the insects

There was just the animalistic need to survive
And Gaia had decided
It was best for her survival
If we did not

How did we let this happen?
A new era begins
For the worse
I will not be silent

The seventh gateway opens
All the trumpets sound
Clamoring in the hallway.
Truth is subjective.

Truth be told
We did it to ourselves

One never sees the monster
Hiding in the open
No one ever suspects that we are hiding something
When they are staring it in the face

Everything from nothing.
And to nothing we return.
To the whole of the way,
We hastened our downfall through an illusion of control.
Only through letting this run its course
And stepping to the center could the master hope for survival.
Ryan P Kinney Jan 26
by StuGLyfe, Evan Spooner, Callan, Lauren, Michelle Galimarini, Fiaura the Tank Girl, Amy C. Smith, and Anonymous attendees

The sun
Sets and rises
For them
And nothing more

Bang. In both my ears.
Drip-Drop, Sweat in both my eyes.
Burns, against my face.

It builds inside, deep in my gut
Rapturous, *******, delightful.
Roasting me alive, torturous.
Everything burns away

People are like Molecules.
Pinging against each other.
With Every Action we take,
Ripples form around us
A smile here,
Encouragement there,
And the world becomes ever brighter

It wasn’t the wave of water that got him
It was the twenty small baby crocodiles
Carried in the wave.

With the wind blowing harshly,
I will sleep like a glutton sloth
Nothing can get past me, but the breeze
Even time will halt at the flick of my wrist.
Nothing, but cool air, I know this
Will penetrate through my concrete spirit.

I run you through my hands
You were once solid
Then you were mine
Broken down to bits and pieces
And reassembled
Into something new

Hello mother
breathing under
I see
you all around
comfortable, beautiful, magical, round
The cycle of life
it must be nice
for you
but for me
I must go now

The light of the moon is so bright
It blinds me.
Sometimes the day rushes past me
And before I realize it, it’s night

We recharge everything
Our cars, our phones, our gaming consoles
When the battery is low
But we won’t recharge ourselves
When our energy is drained
And nothing is left in our hearts and souls
Ryan P Kinney Jan 26
by Evan Spooner

There was nothing
you could do
there was no way you could
stop it

Memories come flooding back
Nothing, but ***** water
Something to filter out
Recover from
Start anew

That doesn’t stop my feet
Sloshing through the muck
The sickening suction sounds
As I try to pull away
Moving, but staying in one spot

Surveying the damage
What all is there to save?
Funny how one flood
Sick inches of remember when
Can destroy so much

I’m still plodding on
One foot in front of the other
One step at a time
Each moment takes an eternity to feel

Additional content assembled from works published by Beautiful Blasphemy
Ryan P Kinney Jan 26
Can You See?

Whose soul your steady breath does reward
For but only existing on this heavenly plane
I wish you would open up to me!
See all I can as well?
but you don’t see it this way.
as most probably not.

If so Maybe I can convince you,
Maybe I can show you,
how true I could possibly be.

Unfortunately, you will not hear me out,
it seems I’ll have to forever shout.
but please,
believe in me

Additional content assembled from works published by Beautiful Blasphemy
Ryan P Kinney Jan 26
by C

When you’re buried
You see the face
a mask
i spit blood
when things were trying to hurt us.
All I know how to do is Here
It is my job to be God
Live like you might as well be dead

assembled from works published by Beautiful Blasphemy
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