" Repulsive human "

I saw my mirrored self
On a forgotten object on the shelf,
My repugnant self.
ugly with a decaying beauty,
An ungrateful being,
who is always and horribly lying,
Nourishing on rotten compliments,
Devouring beastly received sentiments,
Pulling pleasures from holes excreting elements.
With regret,
I fixate
my mirrored self,
On the truth teller object remaining on the shelf.
****** to be earthy,
Condemned to longevity,
I smell the fool odor of my naivety,
My soul's obesity.
They said
"To live is a twist of fate"
But all I see
Through my mirrored self
Is a fate
that is worse than death.

That dark and promising thought,
Kept my eyes open,
And my mind rotten,
All night.
I had dreams and maddening desires that turned against me,
Showed no mercy,
accorded themselves the honor to be my nocturnal unrepentant rivals,
Swore upon their strength to make me dignify my hatred for mortals.
The thoughts challenged gods,
Defeated all my spirit's  guards,
Obliged me to visit psychic wards.
Here I am defeated,
And by some higher power or no power,
Blessed
To still be alive
Somewhere far.
From the distance I can still  see my old foolish and pitiful  self as he walks away :
The happily innocent living that was dramatically convinced, being happy is just one step far.
Stabbed and mutilated
I survived the endless wars,
I now cherish the scars,
That push me to dare going deeper inside,
Of my mutilated soul and misfortunes and the joys that lied.
I was one finger away to Cease to be me,
Probably I haven't yet consumed all my morning's  coffee, to flee and decide of my destiny and join with a touch of prestige the club of men that truly lived and now are free.
They must have instead wept when a man was born,
Not when his flame is extinguished and hereafter they mourn.

There is a bird on my window sill

So indecisive, sitting still

She could have been up on that tree

Instead, she came and talked to me

“Oh pretty girl you know things well

So tell me which one would be swell

To sing for a crowd that isn’t there

Or to die for a crowd that doesn’t care?”

I didn’t know quite what to say

And so the bird, she flew away

What's it worth?

Power and money can't go with you when you get put in the earth

I mean what's it worth?

Leaving a legacy for your pedigree
Who go around porting your livery

What's it worth?

Ain't no free will, you just bound to be
Ain't no one give a ****. Dont bother with secrecy

The ****'s it worth?

Ground em up, pound em up, build em back up

Just so they can go and face the day without having to ******* sack up

What're you worth?

Running around seeking adulation
From gods abombimal creations

What're they worth?

Theyre nothing, and they're nothings everywhere
Without a hair of deceny, ******* plans easy to see

What's it worth, kid?

You need a plot,
One life that's all you got

Smoke a little ***
Pop some little pills

Until you are unable to enjoy the thrills
That's the **** that kills,
What happens when happiness is blasphemous to an Übermensch activist?

What if there is no me left?

Soul stolen slowly by surplus serotonin circling the synaptic cleft

Reflection in the mirror looks like death.

Wait.. it couldn't be clearer

The figure in the mirror is

some sort of fear or hatred that has allowed me to be

complicitely complacement in the fact i'm just
alive adjacent.

I'm living without meaning, I'm latent.

And I don't have the patience to do things of greatness.

Wait, no! **** that. I'm intelligent and I'm gonna do diligent

Belligerence to be the next GW, Johnny Cash or Eric Clapton.

I'm in charge of my life, Nietzsche, call me captain.

And that very next day, all of a sudden, nothing happened

For eons untold I have watched you rise and fall. Build empires and break them. Cure diseases and be ailed by them. I have watched you commune in many religious ways… watched you slaughter for your faith. Now that the darkness has dawned, finally I have come, soaring towards you.

As the farmer brings his harvest home, the librarian pores over long forgotten a tome, whilst the piper flutes a final tone. Echoes from my insides a most peculiar and maddening drone.
Too long soils you have stained with blood, bygone your time of breeding. Your cancerous race, your viral existence… Put out of its misery soon enough.

I soar, adorned in shrouds of doom and gloom, my wings blowing frigid winds and blotting out the moon. Unseen horror, hidden in the darkest nooks of your feeble minds. The stalking predator that lurks near the sheep pen. Crypt born from the graven mounds of a long stained and rotten memory. Ancient pillars carved for me, worshiping us.

No atonement can there be for the existence of human sin. Only to rend and tear your fleshy vessels. In a nuclear chaos confounded to the self-made oblivion, the blindfold to not see, the unutterable horror that is me…

Flee…


If it makes you feel safe and sanctified. You will feel my leering gaze and gaping maw wherever you may hide. Sleep will creep upon you somehow.

Like in times of old, there are some stories they left untold. To prevent further damnation and total extinction, the worship of the gods of all creation. Floating in a sea most nebulous, blackened and foul, adrift outside of the play garden of time and space, there live things without a face.

The piping of mad flutes a harbinger of my coming, a blazing star to wipe the slate clean. Not even a faint echo will remain.
Go out while you can… Walk hand in hand into extinction as brothers and sister, opting out of a raw deal. The last midnight for the human race…

A cancerous vile growth that only thrives for our amusement…

The closest thing, I've personally seen, to the truth
is that I am fortunate just for the walls and the roof.

Everyone in the United States loves to *******
as they all try in vain to dissuade their innate guilt.

How much a better person will I become for
all of this good that I have done?

Corporations buy lakes to upsell life like
William Gibson thought they might.

Where is the sunset in flame through the eyes
of a younger Ridley Scott like we saw?

Let's start a fire in the heart of the woods.
Everyone will ignite, equally ugly.
Dance through the night with me.

What's your strain?
Would you care for some LSD?
We could die at any time, obviously,
So why not live up to the destiny
Implied by the monarchy?

Peasantry, peasantry.
Nihilistic pleasantry.
Peasantry, peasantry.

I used to think I was
Selesnya, Boros, or
Azorius, but now
I know that I'm a Jesuit--
Or something?
And so belong to House Dimir
Or to the Cult of Rakdos.

Peasantry, peasantry.
Nihilistic pleasantry.

The winter catacombs had
long since seeped into the skin,
so that my eyes were scarred open
to ransack the surroundings. The faded
room’s flicker of white noise wrangled
itself inside, while droning tones
tucked away each staggered sigh.

Perhaps it’s farce to believe
that feelings can be trapped in
the wavering spaces where we
can never return. Maybe in all
the languid memories that sit
cross-legged on the edge of well
practiced absolution can never
truly be touched: like gripping
yellow, or blinking chromatics.

Despite this, found mangled against
the gate of my ear, is an urgency that
is engulfing. Concave to the outskirts
of breathing, I am told that all one wants,
is for the age of their quiet, non-being,
when the silver knife arrives to cut
silently upon an existence already grown
too thin. Years swell, but each passing
era exiles what it means to be—because
we can only depend on the reality of flesh
and the chance illusions of refracted light,
but never the notion of something more,
so, the dying, jaundice question lingers—
who will wipe this blood off us?