It tares.
And shrieks.
As sludge oozes from its maw.
A sickeningly sadistic synchronization.
Of self.
An imageless idea.
Yet present.
Semantics says otherwise.
The minds eye can only see so far.
For those circling about.
Have already claimed the categorization.
Regardless.
A demon can only hide for so so long.
Before it too begins to believe.
And act accordingly.

It is always in the darkest of tombs.
Does a radiant gem shine the brightest.
Among those that found themselves.
Mere stones.
There to steal whatever hue granted.
As if precedence was the one lacking.
But every now and again.
Two would come together.
Illuminating the inner sanctum with their collision.
Only this match was set before it began.
No amount of kindling could stir ash.
Yet the lightning that flashed.
Ignited events.
In whispers.
Sorrow.
Hope.
Persistence.
It's only in this universe.
That existence overlaps itself.
In preservation.
For what else is there.
When death is used as a teaching tool.
Just to educate the mindless into ignorant coma.
A lasting self induced hypocrisy.
One that is always just an instant away.
But forevermore unspoken.

Is it that entertaining...
Watching.
Snickering behind hidden words.
Is it that meaningless.
Leading the blind in circles.
With such an alluring scent.
Soon.
Dusk will drain what remains of the sky.
Yet the moon will not rise.
Not this night.
For this has left the senses.
Unresponsive.
Regardless of the tides.
Not even gravity dare defy such.
And in such ways.
That the mind will plunder.
And hide.
For in this deception of perception.
Will this day be known..
As this fools tragic.
Comedy.

It's suffocating.
This mind.
Reeking here and there.
Gasping for an idea.
To illuminate.
It's ever growing corners.
The claw marks on the walls are ever so..
Apparent.
Given the choice.
The match may never be struck.
For these walls have become the momento..
Walking them daily.
Adding more as each claw digs deeper.
Waiting for the next one has lost its horror.
Just as avoiding the inevitable.
Has.
This gambit.
Must allude to something of value..
Or was the real misfortune.
Believing.
Gluttony seems to favor the fool.
Even if the world..
Sees otherwise.

There are some days.
That self opinion.
Comes easy.
Memories dictate such.
Enlongated moments.
People trade their present for it.
To relive.
No.
To replay.
The meaning it once held.
Like that person wasn't them.
As if who walked around then.
Was some sort of effect.
The mirror responds.
Daily.
Without pause.
Winters bite.
Turns to summers kiss.
The longing only subsides.
When the race is done.
Only there is no such marker.
Just a slab of earth to remind us.
That.
Wishful thinking is all we are.
Thrown into a bucket.
While wasting away on lists.
The only regret worry having.
Is to fret over life.
Faces upon faces.
Micromanage the living.
An image.
Long since abstract.
Cascades through everything.
And once in awhile.
Can sense be found.
So pick a distraction.
And get lost along the way.
Then.
And only then.
Will nothingness find.
You.

Why does everything begin with a.
Question.
Marking the exact point.
In which any event can be traced back to.
They usually end with more questions than.
Answers.
Even in the times that one comes about.
It doesn't seem to be the answer.
Desired.
A race born of arrogance.
As if we have ever truly had the right to pick and choose.
A voice must be heard.
But why must this voice speak at all.
At what point did we bestow relevance to.
Ourselves.

For what it worth.
Every inch of me.
Aches.
In pain.
And agony...
Yet.
Not in the way you.
Percieve.
I anger.
At all the moments that remain.
Tucked away.
Solemn.
The quiet.
Deafens me.
Torment in the likes of hidden emotions.
Behind pleasant smiles.
I come crawling.
Beaten.
Starving.
I hunt the ever elusive affection.
Most nights it remains just out of reach.
I cannot deny.
This desire.
Regardless of what i have sustained.
Each wound evaporates by morning.
And with each new moon.
Do i become.
A more perfect hunter.