I usually begin these rants with a question.
But i find myself lacking in just this instance.
For whom can say.
Anything more
When ash refuses to respond.
No message can be relayed.
Just more things that i silently promise.
As i figuratively toast to a memory that will never do you justice.
Is it disrespectful to take words so literal.
To the point.
That looking down gun barrels and beer bottles.
Turned into a ****** routine that pride would boast.
Only there was no smile in my smile.
Inhaling disappointment.
As the years of missed visits and substance abuse.
Led me here.
At your deathbed.
wishing my words could reach beyond.
Without worry of a certain spectres blade in my shadow.
Then somehow.
I made my word.
The only thing worth asking about.
Because allowing the past to weave around the last routine we shared.
Would force everything that i have come to embody.  
To null
Et fin.
But no.
Your gift was ever changing.
Trading a jack for skills.
While masking scars that only those with them would know of.
And in the darkest moments did i find a crystal.
Clear.
Resolve.
To struggle onward.
Tears wont spell the revisions we seek.
and i was taught to always look my best, no matter the destination.
Everything that i am.
Came from you.
It didn't come from a book nor a Professor.
I can only hope to pass on your wisdom.
Although cryptic at times.
Will remain in my heart.
So even though I will forever be thinking of a new metaphor.
A penny will sit in my pocket.
Until the day that I can place it in your palm.

It isn't a game.
But one can definitely lose.
There are no competitors.
Yet self comparisons fog hind sight.
Leading to more dreary backroads that the world forgot about.
It was fun for a little while.
Telling yourself that you threw away the world and not vise versa.
Was truly the greatest lie.
One that grew into actual belief for a time.
But found that the greatest hell.
Is watching your paradise burn.
Bound only by disbelief.
Dumbfounded.
It's a shame that when you lose everything.
Somehow your mind is the only thing that stays intact.    
As if those aspects were programmed into humans in preparation for it..
And happiness got the short end of the stick.
Then to further rub dirt into the wound we create hope.
By means of pursuit.
Shakespeare knew the questions.
And left it up to everyone else to answer.
Only as generations pass.
We couldnt be further from any resemblance of an answer.
Let alone know the question has already been proposed.
Writers play with this notion and yield no two pairs alike.
Lifes most important knowledge sadly can only come from experiencing it.
But with the world in such a desensitized state.
The fear of stagnation is becoming the only real possibility.
Preposterous?
No
Predetermined the moment we chose to let others choose for us.
There is no freedom.
Only sacrifice.
Right.

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.

There are whispers.
To be heard.
Some that overwhelm giants.
Render firing lines paralyzed.
Even topple societies.
A single word from the right mouth.
Can be the sweetest honey ever tasted.
Or a slow acting posion.
One that can not be spewed from its entry wound.
A Feeling all too real.
That even imagination begins to bleed through.
Every pore.
Every dark pit.
Can not even fathom.
Its origin..
For the dark is where it came.
And so shall forever more.
Remain.

Tragedy is spectator sport.
No extra fee is needed.
The equipment never changes.
And there always seems to be matches to linger around.
Screams and taunts can be heard from the sidelines.
Almost always is the advice.
Wrong.
Yet no move is made to rid them.
Blood stains the bout in rhythmic circles.
Etched in over time.
For the paces rarely alter.
Blows are exchanged recklessly.
And the crowds lust for suffering elevates.
Slowly as the two cease in a stalemate of self loathing.
The mob moves on to the next victims to sate the everlasting hunger.
A hopeless unanimous decions.
Humanity.
Zero.

The winged beast circle about.
More for presence.  
For pity.
There is no sport in prey that serves itself.
Yet draw blood regardless.
Taking small morsels of flesh with every pass.
And still no restistance.
As if dying slowly was a feat to cherish.
But isn't resilience a defining trait.
The Heros of every story.
Willingly go in search of new ways to destroy the body and mind.
Their deaths are held sacred.
Glory bestowed upon any who would courageously reduce to ash.
From the hellfires surging within a dragons innards.
At what point.
Does suicide.
Become heroism.
The tools are the same.
Fear.
Blades.
Resounding mental capacity.  
Resolve even.
the words and actions may differ every now and then.
But one fact remains.
Blood is blood.
One persons valiant deed.
May just as well be anothers.
Horror.

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.

It reeks here.
Pungent yet sweet.
Like.
Accepting an unwanted apology.
Woe to the tragically gracious.
For they know not of rest.
As sharks circle about.
Devouring the essence spewed from an unclosing artery.
Until all that's left.
Is a vacant shell.
Not even worth the effort to finish off.
Gluttonuos beings.
The both.
Unknowingky knowing the need.
Of eachother.
For the cause of such suffering.
Bleeds into the affect given.
Effecting the rest.
Distortion needs no introduction.
A slight.
Handing over the next.
Riddled with more questions.
And even as the last die.
Is cast.
A tear falls.
Probably.

Things come and go.
Like people I suppose.
We play games to pass the time.
Roll dice on gambles.
Take chances with our lives.
Only there is no collecting when coming full circle.
That's called a mistake.
So we jump to other boards.
Hoping we aren't sorry.
Realizing there is no perfection.
Trying to balance every risk.
Like we ever had a clue.
Some try so hard.
While others scoff at effort.
What is the right combo that will lead to the end game.
It's like an ever changing rubix cube.
So many patterns to memorize.
But doing the same thing.
Over.
And over.
Is that living.
Or insanity.
Whatever it's called.
One thing is certain.
We shall never get bored.
Playing with our demons.

The world is grey.
Well...slightly more so now.
The nerve endings have healed.
Yet the numbness has lingered.
I stumble on my own feet getting out of bed.
Is it that hard to believe I’m simply.
Average.
I get more lost with compass in hand.
Although I can tell you how to find north.
Theoretical knowledge always worked in school.
But my life mentor is absent.
What happens when there is no teacher in gym.
A bunch of kids wandering the grounds.
Some fighting.
More aimlessly wagging their tongues.
Trying to figure out the social heirarchy.
Then there is me.
Smoking a cig at the edge of the property.
Day dreaming of past events.
Even then I secluded myself.
Unknowingly laying the ground work for the next ten years.
Countless routines repeated with different faces and surroundings.
Sometimes even the words would transition into the other.
In those moments I was living faux dejavu.
Losing my mind to my own reflections shadow.
If only I had read the letter My past self had written to my future self telling present me to listen to the mistakes I already made.
Maybe things would have been different.
The possibilities is what destroys the intellegent mind.
Not pain.
It’s the “why”.
The only question that will truly have no answer if asked enough.
And I can’t seem to stop asking.

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..

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.

Perhaps inspiration is the problem.
I have always danced with words.
Blending syllables and wit
Bending sentences at will.
Firing ink from a loaded pen.
Makes for good imagery.
As I flap the pages of this notebook.
Dropping tiny daggers with this tongue.
Trying to master the craft of symbolism.
With sarcasm.
Playing with these words like hooked on phonics.
Molding them into a scene.
Of play on words.
With less drama.
Maybe even worth less.
Like pay-less.
As we walk in eachothers shoes.
To better understand the roads we travel.

You speak of change constantly.
Like Flux capacitors are sold in stores.
Trying to mend past and future selves.
Trusting that they might collide on a single scope.
And STOP.
Is this pleasing.
Easing into planned mediocrity.
Dancing to tunes with broken strings.
Laughing at hardship.
Hoping it's seen as resilience.
Then wake to cold sweat in the night.
Running from a dreamscape.
To escape.
But still commemorate thought.
Making the real.
Less.
Than..
...
I step on forgotten land mines.
In my mind.
Creating a backdraft of emotion.
Spent years putting out these flames.
And even longer letting the brush burn.
Is control then the illusion.
Or am I just.
Constantly.
Waking.

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.

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.

Everything has a price.
Each time the bell toles.
A payment is made.
The rhythmic thump.
Is only a reminder.
Of how taxing it all is.
There is no.
First prize.
No encore.
As the curtain falls.
All that is waiting is silence.
And darkness.
Only death has not come.
He stands patiently to the side.
Grinning.
It seems.
This is his favorite game.

Dream.
Scape.
Escape.
Elevate.
Plunder.
Function.
Reload.
Miss.
N­o order when chaos retaliates so swiftly.
Guiding hands into the venomous pits.
Where a soul once was housed.
supposedly.
Its only in this abyss.
This land was supposed to be...
Anything but what it is.
When did the guidelines for creation becomes so blurry.
Wicked temptations.
Impregnate even the most righteous.
One of the fallen nights has come to take the warmth.
For this son shall never rise.
A slumber that stretches beyond hindsight.
And digresses into.
Paralyzed Resistance.

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.

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 sit quietly to myself.
Making note of each event.
With every passing inscription.
It gets easier to watch.
The world seems between us.
When we promised the stars to one another.
And as they began to fall from that very sky.
We were surprised.
Bewildered.
Devastated.
The bones have healed wrong.
Adding more and more scar tissue ever night.
Some have even gathered to witness this last dying wish.
It seems to dangle in the sea of the forgotten.
We look so much more now that there isn't anything to see.
Hoping that something will revesere.
Grant us a version of some revision that was thought of so many dawns ago.
Except now.
Thoughts of such rarely seem plausible anymore.
I am just a scribe.
One to take note of all that was supposed to be.
Observer what is.
And weep for what will never be.
Spending too much time.
On mismanaging it.
That all I am.
Is another ghoul.
Haunting a stranger's timeline.

Remedy this.
Believe the wound will close.
Pray the blood will cease its flow.
And when the inevitable happens.
Pray that the shattered remains.
Will find its form one day.
These icy shards feign comfort and warmth.
Contort the mind to reach out.
And paint by numbers.
First encounter.
Second chances.
Third and so on.
Down the list.
Until hands have gone numb and colorless.
A life less than that of which what stood.
Shambles.
And somehow still in motion..
Just as any monument that commemorates the living long since past.

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.

The past is such an interesting notion.
Events and moments transpire.
Then seemingly.
Vanish.
Yet we collect them.
Hold them close.
Or far.
Attaching some form of meaning to them.
These memoirs can guide.
Inhibit.
Transfix.
Suffocate.
And any number of other descriptions to wield.
In many ways.
The time after.
Are just duplicates of the latter.
With placed meaning that's "different".
Archived seperately.
So much irrelevant information.
What can our history books truly retain when perspective is so...
Objective.
We are a society hell bent on understanding what was.
Constantly walking past what is.
And lamenting what will be.
Making it truly a wonder.
That any of us.
Are present.
At all.

I have lost.
Count.
Or stopped.
Counting..
On others.
I exhale.
To dispell.
Hopeless.
Nights.
As i drag.
Heavy.
Feet.
To.
Ward.
The darkness.
I fall.
Tier after.
Tear.
To tare.
A.
way.
Sadly.
Division wins.
Again.

Change has a strange way of happening all at.
Once.
There was a tale that believed to be never ending.
Built on pillars that boasted victory from the sands of time.
Only the stormss onslaught continued.
battering any life daring enough to venture out.
An incessant cycle of death.
One that only grew more ravenous with every meal.
Only to discover that the beast turned machine some time ago.
Just as the landscape did.
Leaving the inside as vacant as yesterday's tears.
And so the tale concluded.
Not with bang.
Or A crash.  
But a whisper.
No grand exit.
And no goodbye.
For its only a chapter in this ever growing novel of disappointment.
And with welcoming arms does the darkness insist.
The right choice was always so obvious.
And now perspective is all that's left.
So one must ask.
Has hells chains ever been removed.
Or has the minds eye been shut all this time..

Tremendous afflictions await the unexpected.
As if ignorance was Olympic worthy.
Tears fall.
A sea of desperate pleas.
Evaporate.
Slowly exstinguishing the sun.
Deaths melody is on the wind.
A wake that consumes.
Dragging a deranged animal to the surface.
Clawing through flesh and steel alike.
For there is little difference.
Cast off.
The fear sets in.
Panic injected intravenously.
Rushing and beating with every tide.
A whirling.
Integrating.
Manifestation of self.
Lost.
And beyond.
Pitch..
Black.

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..

It happens.
Past any point that any would ever.
Imagine.
Through.
Over.
Inside.
Burned.
And bruised.
Broken.
So broken.
But then.
One must break.
To find.
Exactly.
What fits.
In such a way.
In only one way.
Something that doesn't hold with tape.
Or glue.
Nor a day.
Or two.
And once together.
Regardless of the hardships felt.
There is only momentum to gain.
For when all the pain is in the past.
These eyes can finally open.
And these once twisted paths.
Have never been more clear.
For.
I.
Me.
Know which one I am destined to walk.
And I know.
With whom
I will walk it with.
No matter what it was that we thought.
We stand here now.
Atop the mountain.
Ready.
To take this plunge.
And when I wake.
Will this dream.
Be the reality.
That I will forge.
With this hand.
And hammer.
You brought us back from the brink...
....
And I.
I will keep us from it.
Forevermore.

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.

There is s boy.
Always reaching.
For what is just out of reach.
The boy knows he will grow.
Even after the disappointment of not being enough.
Does he cling to the wall.
Patient.
Eyes fixed.
The cadaver bellow.
Grows as well.
Some days it feels as if it will grow limbs.
Just to rip him from crossing the finish line.
Each day is a sacrifice.
A communion with death.
For losing a piece of oneself.
Is a small price.
To be able to...
Live.
Love a day longer.
Only too many days have inched by.
Too many scars have been accumulated to be seen any other way.
All the pain.
Is met with disgust.
No one would dare lock eyes with such a grotesque.
Being..
The cries of agony and sorrow.
Are heard only as rage and hate.
Sadly.
Should the next ledge come into reach.
It is unknown.

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.

I look back on the years spent.
Like cheap coupons.
Cutting out sections of my life.
Living between black and white lines.
Expectations paper thin.
Hoping the change I had.
Would cover the difference I needed.
The dark unknown hiding fees.
Banking on the fact.
That I never check my blind spot.
Blindsided by percentages.
Sideswiped by statistics.
Its a numbers game.
What are you willing to waste.
On trying to make a life worth living
Throwing away moments like singles at a *******.
But only the ones unneeded.
Needless to say..
One could go broke.
Arguing semantics.

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.

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.

Fragrant rhymes.
Flutter about.
Time.
Coursing through the looking glass.
Altering the it.
That was then.
Unchanging.
Mitigating.
Lines.
Into small.
Razor ridden.
Regrets.
This trial by fire.
Purges not sin.
But innocence.
Welding each mistake together to finally.
Yeild a person.
A mass.
Succumbed to the mass.
Less.
Whole.
In which there is room for little else..

Life is overpopulated with actions.
Misconceptions.
Misunderstandings.
And then miss the real point all together.
Always stepping over each others sentences.
To claim right to a land.
That no one wanted in the first place.
Distasteful means.
To a bittersweet ending.
The victor go the spoils.
Only it is life that spoils.
For if there can only be one to stand at the top.
Then at what point.
Did aiming for such heights.
Define such arbitrary scenery.
How strange to ponder.
Just when exactly did the surroundings grow so.
Desolate.
For there is only blackness below now.
A steep ascention to this final decision.
Has left only sanity to fall.
But One can stall no further.
As the distance has come forth.
And plummet I shall.
Whichever way it may be.

There is always something to have come.
Before.
Some rule.
Unspoken knowledge.
Common supposedly.
Is there a way to hear the whispers.
When your the one screaming.
But this facade can only contain desables.
Unattainable.
So many believe.
The vast majority relinquish it.
Like a ***** penny.
Too overused to even see the year.
And forgotten.
Just another piece to be tossed.
But should it find its way into the pool of eternity.
Would it be too greedy.
To shine once more.
Be reminted.
Reclaimed.
But like so many.
Do they find themselves.
Spent.
Wasted on a wish.

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.

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.

Force.
Nothing.
And naught prospers.
Yet add the slightest amount of anything.
Does everything seem to fall that much.
Faster.
The sacred walls it seems.
Have paper like qualities.
Without the writing.
All the actions used for good.
Only spurred the opposition.
Riding at the coat tails of hope.
Or so one would think.
But it was only misfortune.
Masquerading.
Dazzling sight with flashy distractions.
Reveling in each illusion campaigned.
It would seem it's ploy was discovered some time ago.
But not all parties were aware.
Allowing the innocent means.
To be fooled.
The kind that make others feel sorry for.
Because of how oblivious.
One can truly be.

Just how many times.
Can one seize those moments.
The kind that shine in the darkest depths of depression.
A peridot of true resilience.
Stricken with the pressures of earths resistance.
Swallowed and spat out.
And yet.
The brilliant contours never faded.
A gem that seems to compliment any disenchanted form.
Priceless is a meaning longing to be with its presence.
Regards shan't be wasted.
For the world may wether this artifact.
But for one to be blessed with the cleansing light it holds.
Shall be reforged.
Stripped of gashes and ware.
Into a relic of wondrous.
Ponderous power.
Calamity may call.
Cities may even fall.
Cadaverous holes and all.
But.
Every desert hides an oasis.
Forever waiting.
For that one to traverse all the adverse.
And drink in.
All it has to offer.

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 like the first time feeling that burning heat.
shred my abdomen.
knocking the air.
And reason out of me.
Yet this impact riddled me further.
How had it become so mutilated.
deformed.
What moment exactly did people look upon me with such disgust.
That my very humanity was in question.
So much so that even my appearance betrayed my minds eye.
It is strange in a way.
Asking for anything different..
When these hands know well the path they carved before.
And an artisan I have become.
Only now.
Do they construct destruction.
Even as my back is turned.
I have been negligent for far too long.
Allowed my hands to remain shackled.
All for something I was..
Am.
Not going to let go of.
I shall ask for all the pain I have ever felt in my life.
Before I abandon this gift.
I stand eye level now.
Challenging once more.
Not only for dominance.
But for a peace that I have yet to feel.
I may never see it.
But perhaps I have yet to truly open my eyes.
With this second wind.
I shall show just what it means.
To call upon the storm.
And shatter this meaningless mirage that has polluted the air.
Contorted minds.
Nearly even broken wills.
I did not grow fangs to have them go unused.

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..

Gears continuously grind.
Bit by bit.
More is chiseled away.
A steady.
Screeching pace.
But it is the silence that must be feared.
When the cranking continues.
And no momentum gained.
The beast moves just for that point alone.
Out of routine.
With insides rusted.
And oiled.
Progress seems relevant.
Sought for even.
But this robotic organism is hard.
To face.
Alone.
Is a constant.
Talk.
Sick.
A rampaging viral plague.
Calculated they say.
Must this faux dance recital.
Go on.
Only until it all.
Comes down

Stare into the dark pool.
Just as you always have.
Don't forget to breathe.
Noose the air about.
And tighten the grip.
Such a taxing process.
One that leaves the mind penniless.
Charging for every emotion.
In motion.
A moving violation.
Of its own volition.
Rusted wounds ache.
A lasting impression.
Denting the psyche.
Reducing.
Inducing.
Conclusion.
Destination.
Wanting.

Temptress
Enchanted glower of a
stare.
Following an insist
contempt of your content &
less of tests go on to say
morning bells strain on in vain.

Why do you come here
broken bird
blue-sulken, half-hearted
aviator of the dew?
How long must he endure
you?

Swayed from the winds of your brothers &
sisters;
Betrayed none other than by your uncles &
from where they keep
theirs.
Give haste to weeping
Give thanks to conceiving these
wings.

Justified to veer south is
****** not thee
be !
What **!
Hold tight!
Pass on the **** light
Cross vex into his sight
Tonight.

For man almost twenty-six
spoke long of the 27 tears :
of the unknown, complex
passionate, loving years
He was waiting
And always
was relaying
this to his

own little
20 Class A
Robin~

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.

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.