white surfaces flash in fluorescent lighting –

this is no opus, heaving on cold bathroom tiles,

blood and grain against porcelain,

convulsing creature in all its grotesque obloquy:

bleary and snotting. four-walled, windowless, antiseptic vivarium;

life crawls outside. it thrives, it devours, it fortifies.

inside, here, it repulses. ****** effluvium of all kinds.

sharp shrieks of skin across glossed floor, tears soak

before the cliff of the jaw. nothing stays.

wiping drool off the sterile sink and sweat off my knotted back.

snarls choking into sobs, sobs gasping for air.

this is no opus; blackening from corners,

the repugnant vignette held between fingernails –

for the contagious odium of the resigned abhorrent

bleeds and drips and stains.

neglect and rejection strewn like pearls,

pearls, worth nothing, feeling everything.

a fly buzzes in the stark fluorescent light,

and blackness climbs in. blackness consumes.

Secrets of Wysteria flow in the vessels of my brain
And so I do not hear, nor comprehend the calling of my thought’s train
Vowing to never be held again in constrain
Eradicating the rotten fingers pointing to my disdain

Muses of bruises, callouses, and roses
Excuses the clueless, hung in ruin’s nooses

Flagitious tongue sharpens itself with sprawling centipedes
Rusted teeth from perilous mandibles bleed as it feeds
On the oozing, ****** veins of the wicked ****** as it pleads
Maybe these are too much for one’s avaricious needs?

Mindful, careful, piercing the syringe of refrain on plump flesh
Yeuking as the substance flows on blood so raw and fresh

Amid all, the past and future gather in Sheol’s pavilion
But missing is the presence of present in emblazing vermillion
Yet fleetly missed as the siren descanted her composition
Somber statues of ivory pretense witness with volition
Saints and snakes tear each other’s throats in a languish cotillion.

The splendiferous rose
in picturesque shape and colour
aren't all its beauty treasure trove.

But how a rose is a rose
the flower by the thorns
next on the lane adjacent
to the utterly opposite heck
the very uneven grotesque!

Breaking bones
A cough
Shrieking stones
A laugh

Boiling blood
A scream
Freezing flood
A dream

Churning curds
A shudder
Burning birds
A stutter

orchids,
alien and other worldly.

beauty,
bordering the grotesque and bizarre,
strangely exhilarating.

variations,
wild and uninhibited,
even orgiastic,
of a mind, as if,
not of this world;
shapes and sizes,
folds and spirals
colours and colourations.

at times,
more animal or insect,
than flower.

if a rose is Mozart,
an orchid, Stravinsky.

Tear my skin piece by peace
I see the bones leaking in feast
Emmergance of the palest formation
No more turns for degradation
Peal back lids and watch them fall
A shell of a mind once stood tall

Petals of birth
They fall to the ground
Each day another
None left to surround

Lonesome I may
Given with greed
Taken the chance
Most others would flee

Break my neck
My legs as well
Transform me into art
May all others go to hell

Deep down the theater is a mystery
Of the phantom who lives in misery
A loathsome creature, masked in shame
He lives in the shadows amidst glory and fame

He runs the opera, they must follow his order
Or else, a catastrophe will occur
Opera Ghost, forever shall haunt
Abide in you, I shall never flaunt

The world created an Angel of Hell
Taught him to **** and become cruel
But deep inside is a frightened child
Who yearns for beauty and all things mild

A troubled entity beneath all fright
The Phantom of the Opera, the Music of the Night.

Never have I seen the moon turn off its light at night,
Never has it leaped into my room to chat with me or for a moment of unserious trite.
Always faithful to shine,
As similar to that of a slick wine.
Running down a stranger's throat,
Swilling as he sips and slurps - those eyes of his like that of a sneaky goat.
Never have I seen the moon turn off its light at night.

                                                Jahmenmuze..

Voices
wispering
"hush dear, be safe with us"
Sounds
of whimpering
"liars, don't listen, don't make a fuss"
Creature
talking
"you can't pretend, in your head it's all about us"
...
My reflection
mirrored in a strangers frown
creature creeping
underneath my gown
is it me, sweeping
give to whom it belongs, this heavy crown

In your pictures
the conflict hides
through pretty gestures
beauty subsides
and love with its tiring lectures

I don't give a ****
about your empty phrases
turned down praises
Watch me pull the plug
Your insincerity amazes
as I watch you feast on a deers pluck

You're not a dog
all you do is bark
getting rid of carcasses at the bog
listen closely and hear the lark
we all get lost in the fog
see if you can catch a spark
listen closely and hear the frog
you will see me in the dark