i’ve done it again -
i know not why.
with tethered wings,
i sought to fly:
my feathers dye crimson
in the grips of disquiet;
a sworn enemy now,
though once an ally.

i fight the urge
to be myself.
yet, sometimes -
i get overwhelmed
by a sense of futility,
so strong, and lovely;
i’d trade the world for,
and all its wealth.

i hurdle through life
with a beacon un-flamed -
a blackbird through seasons,
with a spirit untamed.
i urge for someone to
light the torch,
so i may sew - the
verses i maimed.

and though i’m weary -
but not for worse;
i must prepare to die again.
tonight, i chase the truth -
for tomorrow -
i must lie again.

Dust had long settled on that heart,
It barely works and full of rust,
Though it was only used once
After a misery it was
Thrown aside like a trash;
It is an antique with no value
And never would have one
No matter how much time passes—
A piece that would stay on the shelf
Until it crumble into dust.

Happy Misery

Buckethead daydreaming reality midnight sun inside his Bucketheadland my outside moon midday fantasy night-dreaming Buckethead.

Exact chaos organized figuratively.

Our world
Rich and beautiful
Yet hollow and bland

Her emptiness has no depth
Her riches fathomless
Her dwellers drool in confusion
Starving to death amid plenty

Her inhabitant flourish
But in poverty and misery
Yet own enough to feed generations unborn
Leading to chaos, anarchy and doom

Her poise awful with looming damnation
Owing to avarice and man’s inhumanity to man
Countless of billions mourn while a handful celebrate
Our world the product of our hand

All I seem to remember
Are the hollow eyes
Peeking from behind damp walls
Walls dripping with misery and the cold winters day
In a land where no flowers break through the heavy clay
Even though they try their best
The beast always catches them at the stem
Tears the blossoms out in calm rage
The feeling sold by its empty eyes
Like a useless spy
Wandering the streets sick with smoke
And liquor

Under starfull skies
Praying to God for a comet
To yell my wish at:
“Oh,to be more than just a clump of cells and flesh and bones
Patching together my soul
Creating something mine
The only thing I can call so“
Because I know each breach carved with the steady occupation
I could lead your hands into the gaps dug by
My litospheric plates moving
                                                   shifting
                                                                colliding
Far too soon

Now I have forests and mountain ranges
Peeking out of my veins
Spreading the dark ecosystem of my mind
I can feel the frost and the gloom biting trough my skin
The fog covering my every inch

Fangs dangerously close to bones
The only part clean of the parasites
Unlike my tunnel-disrupted skin
The penetrated veins sticking out of it

Slowly decaying away
While my heart fills my leaking body with new blood
Sisyphean effort
The life that goes to waste
But stains the flesh a vibrant red
My half-alive corpse
The only thing radiant on this grey lifeless street

The monster slowly kneels down to my side
Pierces its talon through my bone
Sells me to death
Leaves my core to rot
Defeating its defences like an unknown weapon
Injecting terror into the cold white stuff tangled around my heart
                                                                                     stuck around my veins

It sets me onto fire
Letting its own creation burn
For the sake of its pleasures
As the luscious woods burn to just skeletons and dust
The hollow eyes filling with the shadows of the light
As it snarls
A twisted caricature of a smile

A frail man stood high on a granite precipice
as rain lashed harshly his wrinkled brow.
His dead eyes stared fixed into the abyss
while the deep clouds held an intemperate row.

The powdery embers of his belly’s red fire
had dimmed to flecks of faintest off white.
But now, not far from where this had transpired
shone out a tall lighthouse streaming bright.

And in its arc light’s blazing blue beams
the haggard man saw past his mind’s edge
to see he wasn’t the only in a feverish dream:
Multitudes stood each on a dark stony ledge.

Just then the others saw too through the gloom
that they were surrounded in this bracken dell
by bleak fellow travelers of similar doom:
They shared in their bones that they all were unwell.

This newfound chorus sang their litanies all
in crescendos of crisis and depths they bewailed
but the more that joined in, the music recalled
how by sharing their song they’d over darkness prevail.

There in the bellies of each in the throng
once cold embers began to kindle a spell:
This company of the crushed composed a new song
whose magic this sympathy symphony cast well.