This town holds secrets
Don't you know?
Between the houses and their lawns,
Between the market square and suburbs,
Between the forest and the parks.
A mystery lingers
Like unsettling fog
Suffocating, deadly, murderous.
The longing silence
That draws exhales from townsfolk.
The rolling winter
That fills their hearts with dread.
For the creatures of the mountains
Come down to the haunted town
Drawing blood on sidewalks
To satisfy their frozen hunger.
The people tape their windows
And blind themselves with scissors
For they cannot bear to see the horrors.
Each season, a part of town shrinks away
Like termites eating entire wood slowly
Devouring the taste.
Soon, it will become a ruin
Uninhabited, lost in time, lonely.
What once was the American dream
Now an urban flower in a devastating jungle.
A leftover, remnant of something great, eaten away by greed,
destroyed by self hatred.

bird droppings
from the skies I'd plummet
into the arms
of the open road
of the paved places
of the winding canal
of the idle city sleeping

drowsy in my somberness
quiet in my pain, I labored
spilling my blood with a copper's clamor
the din of supper, scraping rusting fork & spoon
'pon tin plate
to hear ravens' drowning cries
rattling in the tin can of my empty mind
searching for the truths devoured
by many come before
who wound me dearly
who loved me,
dearly
and craved every drop of blood
succored
every morsel of marrow
how they loved me,
my flavor
my scent
craved the texture of my soul
that decadent, succulent chew
the note of my fermented heart
the painsteaking cuisine of my hopes & fears
no monster could dare
devour
as humans do,
as humans do...

as human devour
whom they love...

and wherever you go
finding me,
as aimless trails
of loose change, on sidewalks
on open roads
in parking lots,
in the hot sun or shade
know they wandered there
in drunken stupors
as I fell out of the gullets
of their wanton avarice,
they lost me perpetually
spreading my worth,
as they spread their disease
cloven hooves clopping, clapping, clipping their way
away from the devastation
of the feast of my dying
like banks
emptying in my ruin
of the wake of my demise
their empires, falling
fiat failing
loose change spooling
like my passions,
my yearning for pleasures of flesh
they ***** every woman I ever adored
society,
in the desert of that lustful ******,
disemboweling...
establishments, perishing
grants, drying up
riverbeds, swamp-like
don't forget
how they,
you,
chose the love of money
over me,
as you butchered me,
like choice cattle
no golden calf could ever beat veal
no price could hold sway over the madness of their deal
how demons waited
gap-toothed smiles twinkling
eyes dark, cold, wanting, hungry
accepting every handshake with glorified glee
malice of eternities, met with mirth,
poured over sinful charity,
from those who destroyed the good
despite the evils that would follow

I was the innocence - the sacrifice,

they enjoyed every taste of my youth,
my joy, my spirit, my screams,

they enjoyed every taste of my innocence
despite every harrow,
nestled
in every mouthful,
like broken glass filling
in fillet mignon
******
good
fun...

and here I am
this one's yours
your own pretty penny
with no thoughts to spare
for your pennies could never purchase my thoughts
for my thoughts are worlds of real estate
no longer on the market
closed
like never-never land
a tombstone reads:

"Here lies,
he who never lived,
for living was too high a price,
for the world to bear being free,
due his freedom,
therefore, he died,
that they may remain slaves
to the devil's delights,
evermore..."

and no one was there
to proclaim forgiveness
that they, who ransacked, knew not what they did
for they, who ransacked, did know
and yet persisted
for the sake of their own yields of riches,
***, and a deep-rooted
desperate sin
called,

"greed"

never been one whO̲ contains much
faith in the human race, but
now it's just about bo[ɑ]ttom-low
which reminds of a squa[ɑ]tting pose (bottom low)
sometimes, it's like I̲'m on a ride that goes
down the dark misanthro[ɑ]pic road
I̲'m not the driver, though
[but I guess I sort of chose the "vehicle" & keep staying in it]
and to descrI̲be humankI̲nd, I'd go
with the following cO̲[ɑ]mment: "inside a post
apo[ɑ]calypse truck that rolls mindlessly, like it's no
tomorrow, down the dysto[ɑ]pic road"
sometimes, I'd li̲ke to be one in rose
tinted glasses, like some pretty lA̲ss dis—
—played in some fashion-oriented mA̲g piece
but the mind of mine is wired otherwise
but forget it, for rI̲ght now, I would like
to continue the dystopy theme fro[ʌ]m the prior lines
autocracy, AI̲, with both
on the rise, it's like into the dark we go
do you know why it's ca[ɔ]lled
"high classes"? 'cause an archetypal soul
belonging to a high class is all 'bout
self-indulgence, dough (power, high on power)
[since, according to Ted Kaczynski, the power process is the process of satisfying needs]
[having power in its different forms makes living humans delighted (high)]
[just like mood-elevating narcotics called "uppers"]
[what I imply with those lines is high social class[-es] is/are called "high" due to]
[its/their members being under the influence of their power acting as uppers for them]
and for the mass to throw down
the system, there's a lack of civil drive & know[ɑ]ledge, so
it seems like no way of sto[ɑ]pping those
two, except for legislation that prescribes
development, usage, & spread limitations to[—]ward AI
[should be worldwide]
and (with regard to autocracy) an armed overthrow
by antiauthoritarian-minded folks
who, at some point, would pro[ɑ]b'ly grow
corrupted like wrong ones dethroned (dead end)
tragical, but at the same time, it's kind of co[ɑ]mical
[the way humankind is throughout its history]
humankind is like an utter dolt
who keeps stepping on a frO̲nt end of a ****** ***
like a ****** getting her tyrant-minded clients croaked (****** ***)
but AI, which is obvi' gon' be utilized to exercise control
[in fact, that's already the case]
["RoskomNAZIor" with its **** "Oculus"]
or even have the might to exercise control
and autocracy itself are no[ɑ]t the sole
pro[ɑ]blems known; humanitarian plights provoked
by warfares (look at Africa); with enviro holes
being dug since Brit's industrial
[the "dig oneself in(to) a hole" expression]
revolution & the people number growth
someday, there'll be a time the globe
won't be the sentient species' lovesome home
but environment
is among stuff chI̲ng-corrupt jerks
that rU̲n or get
investment I̲ncome fro[ʌ]m firms
speciali̲zing in
fossil fuels gI̲ve not co[ɑ]ncern
toward, hence the climate change denI̲A̲l them
filthy rI̲ch schmucks support
[as if they don't have or aren't gonna have offsprings]
but there's always an abrupt turn
to take to end this f#cked world (sort of end)
I mean, do no[ɑ]t for—
—get about dA̲[ɛ]mn nuke bo[ɑ]mbs stored
both in the "eastern world" with authoritarian govs (madness)
[China; North Korea; Pakistan; India; Russia, with Belarus as its nuke base]
and in the "western world" with somewhat liberal ones (lesser evil)
[USA, with some NATO states as its nuke bases; France; UK; Israel]
what I imply's the sapiens kind
is doomed; even if the final chapter's not nigh
it's still just a matter of time
[doomed to be a dystopian civilization with: constant control & oppression]
[by the powers that be; violent crimes, incl. warfares]
[starvation (in some regions); worsening environment]

“London calling to the faraway towns…”*
[The Clash]

God man, trinket man, fake leather wallet man,
Drugs man, drumming man,  dancing on the street man
Antique man, eel man, bus man, trades man
Boots man, bagel man, feed me I am hungry man,
Fit man, gay man, straight man, trans man,
Chinese man, white man, "oi-back-to-where-you came from" man
Business man, rugger man, beautiful wife and kids man
Eco man, hipster man, shouting man, shaking man,
Scowling man, scumbag man, shuffling don’t come near me man
War man, drunk man, cruising near the bushes man
Watching man, medal man, pickpocket poor man
Box man, sleeping man,think he might be dead man,
Lost man, lonely man,
Looking from the ledge man

a moonless bird
in a storm without center
some things hardly
come undone
emptiness dissolves
surfaces contours
plastic hands scream
in distant dreams
dystopia belongs
to daylight in a world
devoid of shadows of thought
unable really to recognize
the gap between their eyes
in between me and anti-me
tyrants dream disembodied worlds
angels have not yet been invented
no more black words
in mugs by the window

the propensity of deadness
as real as the decay of sonnets
one cannot see one's steps
in bruised forests

I am singing a lullaby
to my emptied hands
I bow to this force
the starvation of life
the oblivion of the pulse
in which time grows

Gather around
Listen to my voice
I bring you news
And i bring a choice
Some shall lament
While others rejoice
But a decision will be made
When i hear everyones choice

The town is in peril
The streets filled with chaos
People turned meek
While others become callous
The leaders have met
And come up with a plan
To rid the town of demons
And return the streets to man

Either put up the walls
Return to the old ways
Or survive the demons
And live in chaos for all your days
The decision is yours
So choose wisely
The demons are harsh
But the old days should not be taken lightly

Let the people speak
And decide their fate
I pray you choose quick
Before its too late
The town is being overrun
At a steady rate
So the final decision
Will be announced at a later date

The world is a dark and complicated morass,
Wherein countless lost children pass
In and out of the shadows and greet each other with a smile or a nod.

Isolated, lonely little hearts playing
With complex emotions in a word staying
Abreast of all the troubling events for better or worse.

Light and laughter dwells but a moment
In tender unions just before fears foment
A cascade of ****** worries filling up the eternal halls.

Then a single flame at first finds another
Huddling in the dark over scraps Mother
Left for kindling a fire in the depths of destitution.

At first the two but soon three and more
Shelter the faltering fire taking hold for
Reviving communion among the distanced souls.

As more join a bonfire starts and talking
Not just of pleasantries you hear while walking,
But of sincere connection between scared children discovering they can conquer the dark.

Some children still pass in the dark hall,
Knowing not the darkness nor how small
They really are in the scope of the full extent of the world.

But every once in a while, more often as it grows,
A child stops and really sees what the others chose
In banding about a fire fueled by the scraps of a difficult time.