Let out a little of the beast. Enough to appease it.

It howls. I feel it scratching, wearing away my mind.

This rage, This dark veil obscures. Clarity skits away.

Let a little out, then cage it again.

For this world knows not of the beast.

And it shall not.

Slice thy mind, donate.

Thy flesh that of the state.

We bred you, raised you. Go hate.



This social unrest, uneasy rut.

Shadowed debauchery, directors cut.

Inside lies blood, the doors shall shut.



Closed off in my mind, insanity breeds,

Faded kindness that my heart needs,

Drowned in blood, tied by reeds.



I snap.

I am a swordsman of the mind. My blade, Language, and logic.

It’s purity glints in the sun. It’s truth, a razor edge.

With a deft flick of my tongue, crimson lines appear, blood beads.

The cut is skilled, rends deep.

This is not trolling. This is sparta.

As the flames of half-life twist,

Lick at the very being,

A knee-deep shadow washes round,

the fish of ever-seeing,

gaze up and scream, a piercing cry,

Ringing through the hallowed night,

A thousand worshipped lotus leaves,

Claim thier god given right,

To flutter on the endless breeze,

For all the spirits see,

I am the earth, the rain, the sky,

Your world, your space, Is me.

Upon the crumbling moss-streaked wall,

A single shephard leant,

As he sadly counted peaceful sheep,

His mind on unpaid rent,

his loving wife, and doting son,

this cool sweet scent of night,

and now we leave the fretful shephard,

He’ll go to war and fight.

We are the cold and broken ones,

Snapped like twigs and tossed aside,

Protested ‘gainst the thousand wrongs,

Were shot, but noone cried.

The subtlest nuance of cherry blossom,

Drifting down into the banks of my memory,

Twisting miniature pirouhettes.