Johnny's not here right now, but if you'd like to
Leave a message he may or may not call...
He's tired, exhausted, bereft of giving and
Receiving in return nothing, nothing at all.
He's become the Velveteen Rabbit without
The happy ending, someones over time
Pulled out all his stuffing and yet he still tries to
Play, frozen in a game of Freeze-Tag so far away
From the other boys...frozen in that dusky darkness
Right after the street lights go on, just another broken toy
Just another broken boy who never understands why the life Experiences he speaks congeals to wrong, dribbles to creepy, or Explodes to wildly unsettling,
So many thoughts drawn on raged bits of drawing paper, art therapy, psychoanalysis, Freudian French
Kiss of poison and genetic quadruple DNA strands writhing
For information, 158 IQ, so ****** pointless without the proper Socially acceptable and personal domestic expressions
Drowning in a childhood sandbox, GI Joe's destroy (ed)
He's realized he attracts the broken toys
Headless-heartless dolls most men no longer want to play with
And have destroyed, the violent dolls stained crimson
With the victims of their games, stained crimson as the victims of
'Sane-ity' to insanity, *****, robbed, the other boys violated their Humanity, in turn, the circle burns, round and round from victim To Another Elizabeth Bathory
They've butchered and they've eaten all the kindness
That remained, their 'The Hungry Heart,'
Pound for pound, their weight in pain, daily dose, an
Eternity of pain...until all that's left in all of us is this darkness
This disdain, this narcissistic fatalistic madness
Which now has made it's home in us, so many
Severed 'n' shattered veins...cataclysmic catechism,
Unbroken, unbound but bound,
Round and round and round the cycle of victimizer to victim,
From predator to prey, we all try to stop the wheel, but we're all Performing the Mississippi Dog Paddle ...still,
Broken arms, broken legs, fractured neck,
Lacerations from head to toe
In blood will out, in mud will in, blood and mud, drowning in sin
Buried to our necks on The River Styx trying to dig our way free
Before our next victim, before our next prey, the tide of
Suicides tears are rising, but we'll dig ourselves out another day, Another day as darkness fades to black...drowning in tears, but Lack the drive, lack the eyes we've clawed out the other day
Out of sight and out of our minds, not today
Another broken teacup in our pieces of
Our lives, broken little china set, water to wine,
Tea to blood, lay our heads back blinded in the
Quiet of the screams...in the quiet of the stream
In the quiet of the River Styx, forced us into
This Morpheus sleep, dead is the new alive it
Seems, Concerto 23...
...Used to feel a modicum of emotion, enough to
Cause me pain...so foreign are the long term acts of
Kindness and Decency it's difficult to believe in ever
Finding that happiness again.
Some people hate the gender that solidified
Their rage, that solidified their pain, that solidified their hopes of
Ever loving another again, but I have no hatred, no blinding
Bursts of rage, no pain left to speak of because that would
Entail a minuscule of desire, of hope, or a sensory/synapse spark, Enough to retain love, or a grip on seeing the beauty of the sunlight Once again...
Depravity, nothings left but this emptiness
This oubliette of nothingness, you see?
I've grown so exhausted, so devoid of drive of
Hope or compatibility, I've finally given up the
Fight of avoiding Dante's Hell's, like
Judas Iscariot, bowels open and out, betrayed
So many times with a kiss and a promise (s),
Crucified for my sins, then hung out on a tree
In an empty field, the ground stained in blood...
Nailed until asphyxiation, my soul now
Stained in bloodied mud, is this what everyone
But me expected, is this what everyone but me
Could see? Some voyeuristic reality of all who see,
Who see to watch me scream and bleed?
Am I just another serpent in the garden, eating
My own knowing pretty poison until I die just
Like every other breed? "I am become death..."
"Now we're all sons of *******..." this was my last breath,
Only now another empty meat-bag, just displaying,
Playing at being human, a little inner child's twitches,
Trying, Trying, Trying
After so many ****** stitches, so many fractured psychosis',
To crawl back into being,...I think we brought back something from The darkness once again...a little more of I T a little less of us
Each and every time we slide back into that murky blackness.
Like water with the consistency of blood and oil,
An atavistic primordial state of mind, an
Evil indescribable in our time and this time
I believe we're unaware "I make our own home be our gallows" Of what will happen...posthumous could be
Written, the only thing keeping me from
Physically dying, is the child inside who
Won't be beaten, no matter what he's missing
Broken, bloodied, torn, and flayed
Still barely breathing, let them see, let them
All see the thing these men & women have made...
Ethical concerns have become lost
Aesthetic-al concerns have now replaced what was.
No more morals, but morale
No more feelings, no more bleeding's
Just another broken babe, being.
We'll see, lost at sea, don't drink the water
Because that's all that's left of me...
"Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink..."
Have I become the sea? Am I undrinkable?
- Johnny Raven ©06-08-2015 9:15 PM.
I don't know, I just started writing. Apologies for the non-sequitur of it all. I keep going back trying to make it make sense, but I'm going to leave it. It fit my day inside my head. Questions, questions, questions.
Questions of others actions and my own and attempting to understand both parties pain.