A quite audience, easily forgotten
The passing of winter rain

Stretch and strain, back to my game
Oblivious once again

Yet your pall remains,
A kiss of mist upon the soul
A sentinel
Of chestnut, oak and magpie’s lair

The cross you bare, a gentle snag
From times when you were elsewhere

A golden wave crashes down
Heavens glory reflected, here

The soft rustle of recent gift
A reminder that we care

Angels cry in torment
Twisting and swirling through the thick black clouds
They curl their wings around the
Uncaring gravestones, crying for sanctuary
From their impassive god.
I watch as the reaper leans a hand across my bleeding eyes
And leads me away from the fury of wings
Beating across hollow bones-
As hollow as their halos.

Miasma

Once upon a midnight screaming
I prayed to the killer in me
And it brought out the killer in you
Drinking from the skulls of my enemies
Don’t you know dead is the new alive?
Found myself in the shadows of the light
Found myself bound by his might
Creeping through the mortuary
Get your gun cause it's getting scary

Croon thy words
In a tune loud.
Wrap me ****
In a white shroud.

Yell thy whine
for my chained soul,
What shall determine
The dead one's parole?

Solace me dear
For death I Fear.
Strange is yet
That All I hear!

Dead one fears
As corse is hurried.
Don't haste to the yard
Where bones are buried!

Since I hear,
Speak to me dear.
As far I am unalive
Azrael won't arrive
And
Speak to me a lie
Until I die.

I want to bid goodbye,
to honour my love for once,
to put you to rest in a place
where roses grow in spring,
lilies blossom in summer, and
the snow greets you on winter mornings,
but all I can find places in ruins,
ravaged by the firestorm last year, and
now a thick layer of ashes
is splattered all over,
the sun rarely comes here, and
the rain is afraid to wash away
carcasses of the past.
It feels like a lifetime
since I’ve been searching for a place
that you might like,
to build a graveyard in my heart.

My tears are
saltier than the ocean’s

My heart is
heavier than Sisyphus’ rock

My secrets
that I buried beneath my
skin has turned into scars

My body is
but a graveyard

sometimes i sit and text women messages free
of any ****** connotations.
other times i come across a chopped & *******,
slowed + reverbed out version of a neoSoul song that i love.
she’s blonde and has a dumb thicc *** and
she’s a woman of few words and she was born
under  a constellation of fire.

like i was.

her eyes are nearly unblinking
and they say less than her mouth
but i know
there is a sea
of symbol-sets
beneath those televised eyes.

how am i supposed to weave or write
when the joy is coming for my neck.
time is the measure of energy in motion

so i turn the dial wayyy down.

God is not a time-piece.
God is a flour mill -
shaped like an inside-out hourglass
in the background of XI Jinping’s latest video on
Tik Tok.
“Violent anarchists held a ‘Night of Rage’”
“Violent anarchists graffitied the Hatfield Courthouse.”
“Violent anarchists continue to attack law enforcement with lasers.”

gravity is ******* the feet and
hills are ******* the walking.
graveyards are a hard one for the memory
(if you believe your family is another pile of bones).
at least we have our three deaths to draw on and die.
1st when our last breath leaves us
2nd the last time someone speaks our name
3rd when Zuccman the Reptilian deletes our postumus, memorialized FB account.


where lies the heart of the enlightened without a mirror?
or when the three deaths are drawn and
it hangs suspended in purgatory like a
pack of Newports in the freezer?
or like a stylized hospital mask produced under
contentious labor practices and
shipped to America via air freight
passing over the Xinjiang province where crimes against humanity
are being committed on an industrial scale ----
The Uighurs NEED OUR HELP THEY SUFFERING A GENOCIDE
THEY ARE BEING ETHNICALLY CLEANSED!!
https://www.vox.com/2020/7/28/21333345/uighurs-china-internment-camps-forced-labor-xinjiang

The righteous white snow
Covers whispered lies.

But soon...

The gore of falsity
Will redden the surface.

Place your hand
Upon the red snow
To reveal truth untold.

It’s beautiful, a feeling of pure darkness and intensity.
It’s freeing, like a raven in a cage waiting to break free.
It’s dangerous, opening yourself up to such a matter of inner conscious.
Losing self control and letting yourself go.
The dead sleeps still, the graveyard whispers pain and sin.
It’s midnight, I’ve been in this beautiful place for so long.
It’s peaceful, like I am one with the dead of night.
I felt something I didn’t feel in a really long time.
I felt like I belonged, like the spirits surrounded me in welcoming peace.
At first I felt a heaviness, a blockage in my throat.
They felt threatened, thinking I was invading their space.
When they realized, I’m one of them, just another lost soul.
Lines and lines and wired times.
Fading into the abyss and getting high.
The spirits communicate with me, I can feel their energies like an instant magnetic pull.
I can feel their pain, their sadness, their hardships, their madness. I can feel it all, and I soak in energies like a sponge, I can’t help it. Intuition kicks in and I can’t even block it.
It’s intense and beautiful, the fog and misty air.
The dark light, and despair.
I FELT EVERYTHING
It was the best experience I’ve ever had in a really long time.
The graveyard in the back of the church, where true love sleeps, souls stay forbidden, sacred, ridden in deep.
A hidden passage way to the unknown and discreet.
I finally found where I belong, for I am a lost soul, buried six feet deep.