The view is sure something.
It can bring happiness.
Hatefulness.
Blasphemous brooding souls.
And in this land that we thought was make believe.
Does standing your ground.
Seem so frivolous.
For nor only does the terrain shift.
In time so does the direction of your feet.
Every memory dropped into a specific mail slot.
Faces it's very own sandstorm.
Deteriorating.
As we try and look back on those ancient feelings.
Yet the TV is set to static.
And the remote lost in the forgotten cotton sea.
Dripping both wisdom and.
Stupidity..
For there is not a single conscious organism.
That will forge and cater the very destruction.
Of its own distorted existence.
Like us.

There are so many different ways to describe.
Things.
Yet there are so many..
That never find them.
Express them.
An abundant ocean of withheld apologies.
Silent screams.
If emotions could ****.
The streets would run black.
Darker than any night the world has yet to see.
And those left to witness this verbal massacre.
Stand as their tombstones.
A shadow of what was.
With little to say.
And not an inch of explanation.
So this tango of tenaciousness ensues.
Flailing about.
Wanting.
Wishing.
Accepting..
How useless.
Meager.
To think that at any given moment.
The answer would come.
So the questions continue thus.
Like any other day.
The only difference.
Is that the disappointment of not knowing the question.
has left.

Aimless.
Can thought run.
To nowhere.
Neither leading or following.
A stalemate has become the  norm.
What is real.
Inspecting that strange figure in the mirror.
Has grown tiresome.
For if there was any resemblance at one time.
What would be the point of validation.
Creating.
Driving.
Movement in general.
Is now a chore.
Does one keep smiling..
Even as these words come out.
Darkening the mind of each new reader.
Muscles move to form the desired action.
Each pair of eyes that look upon.
This mangled form.
Can see.
exactly.
what isn't.
Because of what was.
The stigma was born through the devious means projected.
Branded.
With pain and nostalgia.
Then in an instant.
It all fits grotesquely.
Perfect together.
What need is there for inspiration.
For all that was ever truly needed was imbued into the very soul.
Tempered solid through the years with torment and grief.
Sealed every crack and fracture that would come with anger and self preservation.
Weapons that were kept sharp and ready to use.
And now.
They etch their existence in any corner of the mind available.
Ready to take the next victim.
With.
Or without consent..

I once had something.
Kept it safe.
Removed from all that would blemish its pristine shell.
The thought of leaving it unprotected.
Left a acidic taste in my mouth.
Bile would creep up to remind me every so often.
The world I knew..
Or rather.
Perceived.
Was one that required a set of rules.
Not bound by law.
or religion.
But a game.
They all spoke of the hand that we are dealt.
As if they themselves hadnt already folded.
Watching others cast the die.
Only to come up with snake eyes.
Black and cold.
lifeless.
Yet that never deterred others from chasing that ***.
The so called prize that was dangling just above their shackled hands.
Foaming at the mouth.
Gasping.
For anything more.
Stepping.
On everything else.
Damaging.
Whatever was left.
So I took a different way.
Ripped away what was directly at the center.
Leaving a cold.
Devouring.
Wraith of a person.
One that knew how to emulate.
Observe and analyze.
Creating a persona for any situation imaginable.
Thus keeping this already fractured mind from crumbling further.

Time has come and gone.
Events transpired that left me..
Wondering.
A steady stream of little metaphoric punches to the gut.
Until finally.
Life gave me something.
I never could imagine it before.
The world could never describe it.
Even now.
With it inside me.
Replacing that very void I fed for so long.
This surreal oddity.
Courses.
Caresses.
Cascades down into the depths that I myself created
Rampant these so called emotions.
And at times I can barely seem to find the person I was.
Before.
But I decided to leave the past there.
Take up this new life.
Along with any challenge that comes.
For I have destroyed much.
So now.
I must build.

The cavas has been stained.
Numerous times over.
With every stroke.
Every decisive decision.
Remains.
Then it begins to paint itself.
This so called piece of unique art.  
Almost all the white is gone.
Splashed over.
And again.
With more colorful pigments and hues.
Yet covering up the past with a brighter saturation.
Only hides what's underneath.
Until it dries of course.
Making a corroding concoction of congested collisions.
That neither the painter.
Or the art would ever understand.
And so the piece goes on.
In search of a lasting peace.
While forever in limbo.
Awaiting the day when a new sheet of cavas will arrive.

I have done a great deal of things.
In the name of nothing.
Self preservation.
Fickle is thou.
Yet jest through feats of strength.
As this convoluted mirage passes by..
So much blood has been split.
A multitude of coppery pennies in the mouth.
Can one wash out blood.
With more blood..
A question pulled upon.
With every strike of the hammer.
Can there still be salvation.
Redemption..
How is it that one can still look into the eyes of others.
And smile.
Knowing full well of the pollution inside.
Waiting to consume.
And spread.
How much longer can these staples hold.
Before they too will slip.
And unravel.

It is these days that I want to remember.
I wish to drag myself.
Down through this valley of woe.
Sprint along the coast of withered hopes.
Even climb the mountain of relentless grief.
I have a scar for each endeavor.
Some deeper than others.
But no less visible.
On some days I count them.
Recollecting just how broken I had become.
It was in this rememberance.
That I come now to the eternal steps of acceptance.
I marvel.
And cowar.
At the mere thought of the ascent.
But as I began the recount.
I found that each wound collected.
Added to the epic armor that I myself hammered together.
It was in the forge of pain and suffering.
That this smith did equip the weapons needed for such an extreme campaign.
But it wasnt enough..
Even with all the dense emotional layers of steel that bonded together over the years.
All for naught.
I was defeated.
On the verge of damnation.
Eyes black.
I exhaled the black soot of my own soul.
Set on a path no one would dare follow.
Yet one did.
A single.
Dark.
Angel.
Fallen from lifes grace.
But still overflowing with the warmth of love.
A beauty like no other.
For there was not a single soul that could glimmer like she.
Mesmerized by her smile.
Baffled at her strength.
Her will.
And so I followed.
To the hidden city of the unexpected.
And it is here I have remained.
Content.
The darkness indeed beckons still.
But my eyes have not once deferred from her light.
Until the end of days.
Will I stand by her.
No matter what demon I must encounter next.

The trees sway soothingly
Dancing about to silent music.
You can almost feel the static.
The vibrations in the air.
Wrapping its distant arms around every sense present.
what an intriguing notion.
Laughing at nothing.
Crying.
As the imaginary knife slides into flesh.
Deeper.
What a distraut wind to be stumbled upon.
Pushing everything further away.
Without thought.
Nor care..
With the flavor of blood convoluting the atmosphere.
Does it begin to make sense.
Tare and wilt.
Each leaf does know.
For the new season is upon us.
Ready to waste.
Another melodic year.

I see.
This match in your hand.
With careful movements.
Meticulous.
Dodging the rain that fell.
Hand over humble flame.
The previous burns are still there.
Lingering.
And yet.
You push forward.
Hoping.
That not a single tear will wash away the light.
I witness.
The runaway train.
Horns blaring.
Muffling the words.
That never seem to come.
Mach three.
And still no signs of slowing.
I stare.
A bystander.
As the earth beneath your feet stirs.
Quaking knees.
The smile never left.
For your safety was never in the prompt.
I gaze.
At all the beautiful disasters in question.
This house of blades.
Tell tales of edges that are remnant still.
Whispers so loud.
That even the ghouls shy away.
And as I do all these things.
I have never left your side.
The past may haunt.
The winters cold indeed.
But let shine my love.
For a constant you have truly been.
One that I shall never faulter from again.

It's just a thing.
An idea.
Washing up on the shores.
Of oblivion.
As the surf presses forth.
Does this enigma grow limbs.
Tearing away from the stream of consciousness there of.
A schism indeed.
For it is hastily trying to retrace what was inevitably.
Washed away.
Gasping.
Fighting for a right to.
Be.
And as it does in all youth.
A plague of indecisive arrogance pollutes the well.
This gyser of melevolant guile.
Spew forth facts.
For living is to conform.
Assimilate.
Render the barcode.
As the sewage of self depletes upon the masses.
Who needs oceans.
When we are all dying to drown.
In ignorance.

By every stitch awkwardly placed.
Does there linger a sting.
A colorless.
Vastness.
Of nothing.
A space.
Larger than any ravine.
Boundless.
Where even the brightest smile.
Drowned.
It was here.
In this same collection of wavering resolve.
A new smile was born.
Of lust.
And piercing wales.
One that fit ever so perfectly.
Tears and pain cascade through.
Yet it remained.
Begging.
Wretching.
Playing with this notion of spite.
And torture.
The blade driven by ones own hand.
Is the very one that knows this darkness all to well.
Hiltless.
Does it dive deeper.
And the black ooze finds a home.
In the abyss beyond.
For this.
Is the viciousness desired.
A circle of ridicule.
And tumble end over end.
Smile intact.
Mind.
Shambles..

Let us commerate this tragedy.
Soil our hearts with fascist taunts and pointed fingers.
Let us put our hands together and bow.
Good, everyone is still standing.
Praise be to nothing.
There can only be one.
And none of these heathens shall strip me of what's due.
For having lived a tough life.
Or fallen from loves favor.
Search yourself for justification.
Another excuse.
To make the day go by a little faster.
With a world filled with sinners.

What.
Can one person really do.
Change.
Anything at all?

For even the previous days.
Turned a blind eye.
Consuming.
Alluding..
Resuming
Right when the ground became solid again.
Regret just bellow the aching mealstrom.
Even as we embark on that familiar road.
And then all that's left to do.
Is to look towards the furture.
As we blink for the past.

The river seems to have calmed.
This bend.
Fragrant and alluring.
Has made me a part of its course.
The demon inside is becoming.
Restless.
This harmony.
Must desire destruction.
What being doesn't want havoc to come.
Raze over the bright colorful paint.
With knives and bullets.
Leaving behind hatred and sarcasm.
I tremble.
Through fear.
Not of what I knew what was.
But because I.
Didn't want to cast a single rock into the reflective surface.
Not even move.
For a single motion would surely cause this peace.
To ripple away.
I must die to myself.
Find the balance needed.
I have overcome the rapids that ****** me into disarray.
Shredded here and there from the blade like stones that lined the shore.
What is a little pain.
To truly gain what is wanted.
When the torrent of agony and distress was never.
Wanted.
So I lie my weary head back.
Close my eyes for the first time in years.
And listen.
For trying to steer has done nothing thus far.
Maybe it was time.
To let the river guide me.
So.
I smile.
And exhale.
As the sun kisses my body with its warmth.
Another first..

I chose.
And still choose.
Where my next step will land
Or fall..
                                                          ­            Asunder
Torn                        
                                                                ­Eviscerated
Stiched.

With the same tools.
Of the same hand.
Of two minds.
Of canvas like attributes.
....
I will be strong.
You will be quiet.
I will drag us back through hell.
You will listen.
I. Am.

Wholely tainted.
With views askew.
While I truly never knew.
When these eyes switched and feinted

Took the wheel.
Battered the interior and exterior.
Threw away all in his reach to feel.
Berating and beating i the inferior.
.
..
...
And now
With eyes of black and brown.
Do they see.
Witness
Hole.
Whole.
A future.
Distant and cloudy.
But right.
There.
This well only knew the depths of dry darkness.
Yet a fountain springs fourth.
For the sun never felt so warm.
Filling my being.
Eyes refocused.
The black gate still lie somewhere beyond.
We nod to each other.
This journey.
This quest.
This.
Isn't.
Over.

Everything was so simple.
The drive was there.
With excess in the tank.
The world would blur by.
Melding.
Faces and hours.
Until time was nonexistent.
A plethora of empty bottles and bags.
Strewn across the vacant sky.
With friends like stars.
Casting a light from so far off.
And as present as such.
Routine restrained me.
Trained me.
Becoming more helpless with every misguided night.
Chasing a freedom that I dreamt up so long ago.
So many left turns.
Sirens chastised the fragile hope I gripped so tight.
And as it turned to sand in my hands.
Watching it all fall away.
I couldn't help but wonder..
Why.
What did it matter.
With anger surging from the deepest part of my blackened soul.
Did living turn into surviving.
Then into apathy.
So I unfastened the harness.
Turned the volume past maximum range.
Flipped the switch to overdrive.
And readied myself for the next collision.
The only constant I could ever rely on.

The smoke has yet to lift.
Giving the horizon a eerie feel.
The whistle of death has long since passed.
Even the thunder that lashed out so hungrily.
Has been subdued with the souls scoured.
Numerous holes are sporadically placed among the rubble.
Some are filled.
Like the contents of a blender set to mince.
I peer into the stagnant pool that collected in the smoldering depths.
Not even the earth seemed to want them.
The urge to dive in overtakes my senses.
And the remnant cries are getting stronger.
With every breathe does my mind crystalize.
Frozen in the moments that distort this rigid oasis of despair.
The need to return beckons.
Yet integration is nearly complete.
These arms have become strangers.
Just like the rest of this surrogate being.
The storm is coming.
But I remain.
Watching.
As the familiar figure takes its leave.
Grinning with every step.

What is this.
Eyes strain to see anything in the soulless room.
Yet there are no walls to feel.
No comforting scrape of shoes as each leg is dragged to the next position.
So many questions float about.
Just out of hands reach.
It's raining now
Attempting to make this mangled carcuss anew.
Yet pieces fall away with each new storm.
Even a drizzle seems to steal what it can.
And although it reassembled with a little time.
Is it apparent that there was so much more some time ago.
Rendering all opposition useless.
Why must one fight if memory can serve no enemy.
So many..
Questions.
There can be nothing more precious.
Than the answer sought for so long.
Through a wasteland filled with the meaningless.
To come to a pitful hill.
And stare at the answer.
But for one so nearsighted.
The wasteland has just begun.

The hesitant hand speaks through the white abyss beyond its dark eye.
Worlds are created here.
Excuses.
And words of love alike.
Men and women have died clutching and wrestling with this enigma.
The need to be understood.
What need is there when what is counveyed.
Was never captured at all.
Forcing more and more blackened guts onto a surface for criticism.
Only to claim the meat bellow grade and tossed away.
It's the output that heals.
That begins its torture like tools to ****** about the mind.
Plastering over more wallpaper with graffiti.
Trample over the art created to assume the role of the next tramplee.
Be humble yet there are no holds bared once the summit is in sight.
This cataclysm has taken enough of me.
And this righteous path.
Can only play granny for so much longer.
Before I too will grow fangs.
And tear this pointless paper to shreds.

It's strange to ponder about just what brought this revelation about.
They key now swings silently around my neck.
Lulling the air about into a mirage of sorts.
Yet as I frantically rub my eyes for clarity.
The image stayed vibrant and resilent.
Although it seemed to have aged in the time since I first looked upon it.
Claw like marks gouged the frame.
It seems to have been reforged.
With blood and steel.
Giving it a cold and bitter demeanor.
Yet as I place my hand on the weathered scars.
Am I filled with a roaring zeal.
I bellow a battle cry that reverberates through time itself.
This typhoon of emotion surrounds my senses.
Dizzy from the constant swirling and repetitive motions.
I pray for a salvation that still seems so far off.
But giving up now would bare no fruit.
So I greet it with a smile and a reinvigorated rage.
And await the moment that the calm calls for such renown.

Oh what a corroding flavor this is.
A concoction of disregard and lethal words.
The wake of such leaves the mind baron.
The seeds have been sewn.
And with the coming harvest does each pew wreak destruction.
One of many in fact.
Sprouting new yet familiar cringes.
The root is that of hell fire.
And the forge is aflame once more.
A conundrum of gleeful dissonance.
The sear is almost as unbearable as the creation of its last creature.
The howls echo throughout the night.
Branding malicious means deep within the void it had become.
The scent of blood is in the air.
As the lust grows
So does its wretched grin.

Throw it all in.
The ambitious thrive on such weakness.
Dwell not on expectation.
The dim could never haunt such a pristine wreckage.
Wallow not in the temptation vowed to conquer all there will be.
For the distance reaped its own faux reward.
Caustic beats of reckless breathe.
Flare the cavity within.
Down in the darkness.
Sound falling a hair shy of the ear wished for.
And now.
Lingering just above the wretched pool.
Can you see the scatches on the cage.
Crevices upon canyons.
Of profound pain and longing.
Why does the floor seem so inviting.
As the icicles coil through each open vein.
Does skin turn to steel.
The perfect sculpture.
Wound and ready to lie.

Smile.
For all the times we reminisce of the hill.
Laugh.
In the moments that we swear we are going to hell for an ill timed joke.
Cherish.
Every second my eyes find their way to yours.
Hate.
All the miscommunication that lead us so far astray for so long.
Disregard.
Each sarcastic comment that seems to cut so deep.
Cradle.
What you never thought you would have.
Rise.
And take my hand.
Stand.
For what you thought you didn't want.
Fight.
All that may come to drag you down
Feel.
As I tell you I love you.
Trust.
That every single kiss is true.
Hope.
For all that is left to explore with each other.

And I will surely do the same.

Lasting is the haunting lament in the wind.
Gripping the muscles in spasms.
And hate.
The tourniquet is holding the viscous demon at bay.
Only the rabid nature beckons all the more.
This smile is one of pain.
Casting a redundant image into the film reel.
Called perception.
Just as the mirage fades.
Does walking in circles make sense.
Only to find the room is so much smaller now.
Stripped of valor.
Can one sense what always seemed to lurk right behind the eyes.
And just as the ringing attains piercing volumes.
Splintering the very ground.
Shattering the existence that was said to be so precious.
Ironically the only one dancing is my shadow.
A jester in the fading mist of memory.

These words that I write.
And the pain that I feel.
Remain stained upon this page.
But just as this page will deteriorate.
In time.
So will this anguish.
There may be times.
When the ink in the pen is not enough.
We must demonstrate our anger and hate upon the world.
But we realize.
That our actions scream louder than lungs capacity.
And even our bodies cannot hold the strain and punishment that we put it through.
So now we come back to the white paper.
And the ink in the pen.
To blacken our thoughts over again.

My hands have become raw.
The constant digging has made me complacent.
The tools have been scattered.
Just as the thoughts I sift through.
Glory to those that have found the treasure.
Trinkets of blight and misfortune is all that is left.
Do I cherish what remains..
Consume those that are truly nameless.
Faceless.
The definition is lost on me.
Yet I find solitude in the despair it brings.
A constant that always keeps its promise.
The lighting strike has found its mark.
For just as fast as it has come.
Lighting up my eyes.
I am left with only the afterimage.
A burn that is slowly fading.
And soon.
It to will be that of my imagination.
Hinting at a past with static charge.
Will this Phoenix rise.
Or has the fire finally been extinguished.

A wanderer I have become.
Traversing all forms of thought.
I am not the first.
Nor anywhere close to being the last.
at what point does the this hurdle.
Evolve into an obsticle.
Am I doomed to hit the plated steel at full sprint.
Or find solace in the knowledge that nothing can hinder this momentum.
Is this the peace that is sought after so viciously.
The acceptance of all that was bounded over to lead to this point.
Or is it just a lie to manipulate my mind from another truth.
Drawing figures in the sand as the other contestants rush by.
Who was I to assume praise would come.
And as I laugh at myself and all the foolish ploys I have created.
Does the simple.
Irrelevant.
Illusion come forth.
Winning was never an option.
One must eradicate any notion of the sort.
I must learn to fail.
Review and revise it's delicate tools.
For I have never thought that I would ever fail.
At failing..

It was so much different then imagined.
It was looked upon from a great distance.
It was admired as such.
Now it has been obtained.
Now it doesn't seem so shiny.
Now here comes the hard part.
That image.
Is still far off.
The battle has just begun.
Casualties were great.
On both sides.
These waves of bitter sweet reality has left a pungent after taste.
Yet we are found wanting.
Intrigued by the simple fact that once tasted.
There can be no substitute.
No replacement of this joyful agony.
The windows are open.
And although the breeze is chilling.
Seeping down beneath the thick layers of trust issues.
Only to find that there is still warmth left to thaw.
Actions must be taken to cater to this glimmer.
For one cannot merely wish for what they want.
It must be earned.
In laughs and tears.
It's truly a wonder.
Just how ignorant one can be..

My compass can’t decide on a point.
And neither can my mind.
The list goes on as far back as the paces remain in the sand.
There was a time I would let the wind take me anywhere.
But these chains are ever so cumbersome.
Reality seems to want me right here.
There is no forcing the paradigm this time.
No amount of meditation can cleanse this sin.
For one can only ask for forgiveness so many times.
And now.
The tattoo remains.
Coiling about.
Ushering those dormant thoughts and urges.
Right to the very surface.
Only the seal.
Was lost some time ago.
Or rather thrown away.
But semantics will get us nowhere.
And neither will indifference.
Choice.
Follow the white rabbit.
Or believe.
That we forge our own luck.
Only there isn’t a single master about.
For all we truly do.
Is fumble with the tools.
And expect.
A masterpiece.

At long last.
The cement has dried.
Casting a laughable hue on this decrepit hill.
Has the air always been this thick.
Gravity seems to want more than I can stand.
I wish not to instill this image in my mind.
Yet as I gaze upon the casted hand.
There is no real explanation.
For this miniscule action to have even..
Come to be.
But thus it has.
Formulated in the very consciousness that guided these dreaded feet forth.
A relic of old it is.
Glory.
And now simply a need to be remembered.
As i search my desolate suroundings.
Does one begin to truly understand.
Meaning to such action.
Loses its definition.
With every lingering moment that eternity allows.
What a distorted rendition this constant reel has made.
Yet this came from nowhere also.
Right?
Loathing the next pace.
Yet comforted in knowing.
That imprint will one day fade.
Ghastly remnants of failure.
Remodeled bone.
The sight from these very eyes.
What comes of the endless.
endurance of fame.
A life in search of the meaning it never had.
Detest.
Expectation.
Inhibition.
The compass supposedly zeroed at due society.
Let the rise and fall of this chest be testement.
A moment.
Is just a moment.
There is only one key.
Choose.
What may.
Enter.

I regurgitate lifeless sentences.
The breathe I draw can barely keep wind.
Everyone is waiting for a scream.
That I say is not present.
Nor filled with sed distraction from truth.
I have waded through muk and grime.
Loved it at one time I suppose.
These stained hands remind and reminisce.
And the echo continues..
Laughing in my face.
His face.
Grinning.
Spinning.
Lasting.
It's a wonder I am...
Still...
Sane?