I am alive.
I am flesh and bone.
I am a pulsing heart,
the sound of love-
perpetually beating.

I am a shadow-
at peace with desire.
I am Fate.
I am knowledge.
I am chaos.

I am divine fear,
pure ecstasy,
I am the feeling of becoming.

I am a child brought into the world
I am it's first breath.
I am the reflection in the eyes of Death.

I am Life,
I am pain,
I am bliss,
I am love.


I am reality.
I am a complete illusion.

on this blank white page,
my emotions flow,
shine and glow
'till the emptiness imbibes my thoughts  
like raindrops after a drought
I  remember, tears are pockets of sorrow and pain
After 6 years, You teached me to let them rain
I believe in something now; once they dry, the healing begins

Distance is a slow asphyxiation,
A chaos that requires all of my attention
But If you were here, i would read your eyes
I would look beyond your flesh and see beneath your bones to finally fall in love with the beauty mess that you have inside
Then i would go back to your eyes, swim and drown into them
i would find all the words that were
never really said,
and i assure you, if you were here,  we would be more than alive

As an inexplicable soul,
Trapped behind bar's
Of the flesh;

I awaiteth to break
Out of this worldly abode;
Where mine wing's canst fly
Far away from this nest.

In a white robe to be dressed,
In a Faraway home; soaring
Peaks O' unknown,
How the flowers
Impress.

None shackles to mine feet,
Nor any chem trailed air;
Just the sound's that
Surround, their word's
To flow through
Mine hair.

I'll use gold to write with,
Silver to create its depth;
O' I wilt cherish the saint's
Of gods endless breath.

Rose petals to be the paint,
As the petals never die,
Nor shalt the day turn into night,
God is the sun, the moon,
The light.

I'll gaze the foreign, strange
Sights, being no less
Important, I wilt sing
With the flowers, as
they'll appreciate my
Purpose.

©lonesome poet's poetry
©Brandon nagley

This twisted spine collapsed down on the world with vengence.

Its crooked maw could not decipher the slithering tongues of monolithic men.

I tore away at my flesh until she returned, beaded eyes white hot with fiendish intentions.

Sparatic jestures have been no strangers here, at this abode we endure, witnessing the violence.

Skinned ghosts and spilled ink
In a sack of flesh
My very own.

Amiss am I, awry I be, with thought's not of this sphere, O' how I thinkest of the real me. The real me with none dermis, the reality of none colored blood. I'm katharí psychí;
Of the empyrean love.

Wherein the substance and materials aren't bought, nor sold; I'm sick of the greed, the wantonness, that makes monsters out of men.

I've experienced wantonness, though verily it doesn't please me, I've tasted Lust's, and lust conceives sin;
Sin leadeth to death.

Lord Almighty, protect me from the demon's that never rest, nor do they sleep;

They art witty, unforgiving, they make men's heart's their places to eat and invest.

Renew me Yahweh in this mortal stress, keep mine eye's on thee; O'
Mighty king.

Free me of mine burdens;
And mine restlessness.

Let thine light,
Overshadow me.

© Brandon nagley
© Lonesome poet's poetry

They linger outside my room I hear them exhale
as the paint peels like snow flakes falling slowly
to the floor. Its only wood mahogany it think,
"nice, cost enough. I heard them mauling the
surface cleaving at different points as if a weakness
was to give way.

They bait me to see if I would gaze upon the shadows
that linger just past the door... I touch one with my
finger seething discomfort carries over my skin.
Murmurs sing lullabies at the corner of the hinges
they seem to get hotter with every tone that settles down.
I cant seem to contemplate its words, but it sings.

I look around my sheltered room, the windows are just
a look out to nothingness, I am like a flower in need of
sunlight to blossom.  but I am withered I'm suffocating
with my own deliberation. Have you heard the same
thought repeated in angles you never realized were
possible, every word deconstructed and syringed within.


Do you realize that a room even though with its formed
angles becomes nothing but a blur, patterns in writings
that migrate along my sight of vision. I'm a mine canary
trapped in a cage, and my only escape is the wishful thinking
of when will this gas seep within and silence my yearnings.
But I still breath, they mould the features of my prison in whispers.

I throw my features in random rotations to find even a
fissure that will be a keyhole to my eventual releasing.
But where my essence tries to evacuate they burn my
sanity and I scream in oscillating repetition and they just
seem to think nothing of my afflictions. I am a prisoner
within their walls. I will consume them when they fall.

She stands in the kitchen,
while I slice her flesh away,
eroding a parasite, she's
the perfect picture of decay,
I'm birthing something new,
extracting the real me
from my sinews,
I've killed the girl you knew,
It looks like she's
psychopathic like me too.

Love,
Anti.