With my Unfaltering admiration for you,
In my heart I have enshrined you.
That's where precious things are treasured,
Worshipping you in my self built shrine renders utmost pleasure.

I surrender myself to you in veneration,
Hoping my existence would come to a cessation.
The pleasure of self Cessation is known only through surrender,
Surrendering is inevitable when caught up in your splendor.

I weave exalting poems to sing your praises,
To make sure my devotion for you raises.
I drip tears of ecstasy in your presence,
Those tears ensure the begining of my absence.

Moments of agony, desperation
and inarticulate screams
moments I lost myself in space, alienation
don't you abandon me too, please!

There were moments that I saw death
and destruction
moments where my heart stopped for a while
to function..

All the world is spinning like crazy,
don't know what to do
while the thoughts in my head are racing
and I seem like a fool.

There is no one around here to save me
i feel alone
oh my God the demons come running across my mind, don't hate me!
to desperation I am prone,
I 'm feeling sick to the bone,
into a man I have not grown,
all I can do is shout and moan.

I wear upon my head the mad hat of the mad hatter
My burning eyes bleed brightly, silencing all the laughter
Corners gather all the shadows that my heart has shared,
And footsteps quickly walk away whimpering in fear
I say to them "don't be scared, I wasn't sent to hurt you"
But they can't hear me anymore they've been stuffed into a shoe
I hold my empty hand out looking for some comfort
But they all bat my hand away unwilling to even touch it
My blank face tells no stories, I hold them all inside
There they'll stay locked up tight, safe from this world's lies
Now my hat is sitting crooked and my hair is spilling out
Everyone who looks at me begins to point and shout
"I didn't steal this hat" I say "it was given as a gift"
But they can't hear my words at all as "they" don't even exist

Where's the home of the stranger if not in a nameless grave,
Providing him with peace and silence;
His gravestone seems blank, but it tells thousands of untold stories
About his damnation and condemnation;
Living among people without feeling anything what runs that nation
Is painful in life, and even afterlife
When he knows it right that that name on the grave is quite unwanted,
And won't be visited, only haunted;
Haunted by thoughts and doubts of the self's unsaid words,
And the surrounding world's empty words
That had been waited by the stranger so eagerly to utter something;
The empty words should have uttered something,
Something that a stranger never could utter correctly:
Home.

About Costumes and Customs


Wear, wear whatever you dare,
Tho, the global locality has no morality...


Animals with human customs,
Humans with animal costumes
Form the world into a modest mode-


In which the smartest ones are silent
While the mass dress in rumbling drunkness,
In happy hues of the humbling violent,
Of the primitive ****-geniuses.


Does ****** equal with the human nature?
Which? Human as savage or creature?
Born or grown?
While sensations design human customs,
Is predestination more than a fake costume?


Does the world hold anything divine?
While we follow an immoral aurora-
Its warming colours in a frozen desert,
That implies no divine unseen scenes?


Questions are colorless, unseen but existing,
Alike to God's infinite fineness-
Probing our customs if they are probed.


Methink costumes as a colorful ocean,
Mesee customs as the change of the world.


We sink in the dying world's dying ocean.

Little shadow
         harked madam

a bird who wears her wings
only as wardrobe
  (though she dreams
   in fits
of infantasy)

  dusty in her bedroom
in trust to her headspace
      an attic dweller

    home school tutored
a burden to her wellspring
   and buried to her title

                      averted
         feet behind the curtain
little shadow
         with the unclaimed
the name of
            Elizabeth

               **

         A foe in the night
an aviary of the berserk :
          vocal nicker
and disputes at high frenzy
  lend from her garret

uneasy on the household
coughing up all of the family
  cussing from their berths

the awoken
shamble and mumble in the hallway
  move in a broken thread up to her attic
   they’ll crack open her privacy
     and find her fast out on the bedding

you can’t spell that to her ghost
        in Elizabeth’s sleep
    it’s sprung from its host

a living haunting
a messed up devotion
  expresses itself on the family
   enforces itself emotionally

the hallways are trailed
    with dried flowers
   and stinging nettles

don’t tread the halls at night
without a pair of slippers

the closeness of
my soul is
upon me
with the
right music

the body eats
and eats
and
eats - i can't
help but
feed it

the heart cries
and sings
between each
stranger it lets
in

madness encircles me
like a kettle
of raptors

my spirit reeks
of death
and
the genesis birthed
from it

the greatest
opportunity to
develop and
grow beyond
my tired limitations

i am not
done yet . . .

There is this girl named depression
She doesn't care if I'm happy
She will bring in bad news when i just got in a good mood
She doesn't care if I'm with a good dude
She tells me he just wants me to send nudes
I tell her to leave her presence isn't needed she doesn't listen
She wants to live with me forever
Whoever this may concern if you see her avoid her

Poets are an interesting bunch,
All half mad at least.
I say I love poetry
When the words tear me up inside,
Stealing every breath.
I say it soothes me
Even as it burns me,
Begging to be released.
"We all know we're crazy," I say.
"But we choose this life
Because we can't live without the fever dreams
Or syllables controlling our every move."
The non-poet stares at me,
Uncomprehending.