I am huddled in the coroner,
a little beast within a man,
And when at night he studies bodies,
I come out,
now and again.
How awful the world is!
How creepy the self is!
How weird she is !
SHE can no longer breeze
How savage humanity is!
Where she lives ,
She is not what she is!
dark’s peering into day,
wonder when the dew’ll lay;
time’s slowed as skies turn static,
least the hours are less erratic.
orange lamps glow
outside a misted window;
earthy rain’s falling hard
but fire’s lit and sky is starred.
sometimes mist deceives the eyes:
seen silent figures’ quick demise.
ocean spits over the pier,
almost as grey as the Wear;
lighthouse shines it’s steely beam,
illuminating the horizon’s seam.
heaven’s sealed with wrought dull iron,
far away seems unearthly Zion;
harvest moon’s not as vague:
illuminating an eight-legged plague.
crows spectate above and below,
you’d be surprised what they know;
change leers at every bend,
nostalgia seems an only friend.
the veil is thinner than before,
perhaps open is another door;
harvest season’s coming to an end,
fields of Elysium this way wend.
Was this evil
When she snatched girls from the
To havevthem sacrificed and
By the jinn
When will she end her
Of taking innocence
And committing them
They autumn eye are
Day and night
But know to
But to possess one of us
When a person goes
At the beach
During the witching hour
She is confronted buy a horrible
Watching down on her
They of Satan
Will she be possessed by the demons
Of the past
The world is a ****** up place
a place for the mindless
a place where a mouthful can be mindful
a place for you to be sad.
The world is a ****** up place.
and you will try to escape it,
but the rangers of the world are relentless
pity them, for they do not know that they range
pity them, for they do not recognize the darkness they carry on their backs
pity them, for they think their escalation is supreme
pity them, for they are ****** up too.
Pity them but do not join them,
this is for your own good-
the true good,
don’t you join the traders of the world
don’t you join the keeper of keys
don’t you join the giver of things
and don’t you join the maker of slaves
for this world is put in front of you as a test
A fancy tuxedo and a black leather glove for each hand, could this be Patrick Bateman? or punk in a band?
no, it's Digital Man.
Yes a real man, with a screen head of course, would you look at him this strangely if he was a horse?.
He just goes about his day, and people judge and take pictures of him in each and every way.
He just wants to be treated like everyone else, and not put on display like some little mouse.
Why is society so blind and judgemental and cannot see, that I'm just like him and he's just like me?