I was born into this, something I never wanted.  And all of my life, I've been running, hunted.  We're being tracked down and slaughtered, chased, by people with fire as their ally, their weapons made of silver or simply wooden stakes.  You've run us into a corner and murdered all of my kind out of fear, not a shred of their existence left behind, proclaiming it was for everyone's sake.  I am the sole survivor, the last of my race.  I have vowed not to fall victim to the same fate.

You've claimed me to be a monster, but what does that mean?  The only monster I see is you.  Murdering and spreading rumors of my kind, you don't understand what I've been through.  Saying I've slain many, but you've killed more than a few.  Stop speaking of such things; it's hurting me.  Stop lying to yourself.  Why can't you see? Are you ignoring it purposely?  Look at me, into my soul, and realize the devastation caused by your pursuit.  Why can't you understand?  Monsters have feelings too.

Though, it is too late to go back to peace.  The people can only see something unreal, a fake part of me.  And now, I will never be free.  I'm forever running from your conceit.  I have done nothing to bring you to this.  I've cut off my horns, my fangs, and my claws to try and be a part of your bliss.  I burnt my fur and scorched my skin, but all I've done has been dismissed.  I have to hide in caverns deep.  In the cold and damp, I sleep, afraid to be found in my cavern keep.

I could never fight you, that would only make things worse than before.  My skin is covered in my crimson blood and I'm in pain from the scars.  In anguish, I roar.  My gargantuan, curled ebony horns lay broken and cast aside; my thick, midnight blue fur reduced to patches and strewn across my stone lair; my calloused pads raw from running; my weary eyes tortured and worn.  I've given up on living any longer.  It's better to die and to be conquered than to be caged and grow weak from hunger; so I step out of the cave, crawling out on all four; and I lie down, exhausted, on the forest floor.

what have i become. .
what have you made of me, mother?
what have you sculpted, brother?

carved to perfection,
into an ivory soulless wreck,
a hopeless mess, high off morbidity and agony,

carved to perfection,
to attend to your lavish needs,
of a stripped youth,
hidden under a blood stained carpet floor,

and you do it so lovingly,
as i reach for air,
when you've buried me
six feet under.

Watching videos

I see shadows of people –


Is it Plato's cave?

Swaying to the sails,
As the ocean wind blows in all directions.
Expanded,
Over an ocean of whales.
As they ascend,
You ride them to the sunset,
And set in the sun,
Rising in the morning,
To spread across the ocean.
Like the yoke from an egg,
You hatch into a new life.
The embryo from the sun,
Running down the coastline waves.
To touch every soul down there,
Except for the ones in their caves.

Garl april, 25, 19

The time of his death was
unknown of course

Garl walked the perimeter sticks
wooden spear at the ready

Garl saw more than he thought
therefore the world of the cave walls

His dreams were to amazing
images of other worlds
so beautiful so strange

All were their dreams at night
but the samans put them on the walls

An act of great courage  due respect

In his dreams Garl saw himself
on the walls   at first with fear
later with desire

The samans were also hunters

The hunt was a strong image to have

Garl was out with the hunters
he saw the hunt    he saw his
image on the cave walls

He went forward to the mammoth

He is now seen on the cave wall
   by thousands

The time of his death is unknown
of course

Anything, I have written at all.
May never be seen
Will never, be shown.

My words, will go un-spoken,
from generations that are,
unknown.

But my existence, will be, recorded,
through paintings, on
cave walls.