Falling in the ocean,
Like drowning in emotion,
A chaos just trying to break your dam.

A torrent of feelings,
Begin to just start streaming,
A flood which flows through your life.

Sailing down the river,
Covered in past shivers,
A broken you, you will find,

You'll see it made you stronger,
Even if it still does haunts ya,
The past of which you live through,

For this Ocean that we live in,
Is breathable within,
The torrent's you created till now.

Of fatal head-wounds, beasts, and kings
my holy muse, avenging, sings
and mocking, scorns
the ten kings’ horns
while greater wisdom brings.

Divide ten horns on seven heads;
numeric challenge overspreads . . .
Ten for seven ?
Thus does Heaven
plan to up your meds.

Seven candlesticks, vials of wrath
first lit, then poured, shall light your path
toward paradise;
and shall suffice
in holy aftermath.

Such Hebrew numerology:
an Antichrist apology.
No death in vain.
Those babies slain?
Pure semiology.

You come with true prophetic zeal
the Revelation to unseal;
and yet, I doubt
what you’re about . . .
you need a balanced meal.

Nutcase: extraordinary
measures may prove necessary.
Vitamin B
deficiency
turns you visionary.

Good supplements might help your brain
and God Himself perhaps might deign
to grant some light
and ease your plight
till truth and love remain.

Go, crack the Book. Let us resume
the cryptic parable of doom;
Saint John raving
(text worth saving)
lightens the End-Time gloom.

Voice of many waters’ thunder
barely startles . . . on we blunder.
Shut up and buy—
demystify
as barbarians plunder.

Of jeweled harlots, rising wars
and opening of infernal doors,
near-psychotic
occult logic
breeds the juggernaut spores.

Those seven churches, now long-gone,
return once more in light of dawn.
Prophetic ghosts
in ****** hosts
give birth: prophetic spawn.

The fabled fornication-wine,
unholy, though no less divine . . .
we drain the cup—
our time is up;
all hail the Lord’s design.

Archetypal memes of madness:
slaughtered saints revive with gladness
the slain lamb’s life
brings end to strife
and closure to our mess.  

Sharpen your dull Christology,
fanatic eschatology:
void of logic—
semiotic
misanthropology . . .  

Delta of the dark Euphrates:
something from the bowels of Hades
issues forth
to test the worth
of Babylon’s ladies.

Cool out, my brother. Close the book.
It’s not the end yet; take a look.
Glimpse the city—
what a pity . . .
omens have got you shook.

These frightening prophetic screeds
should urge you more toward Christian deeds;
not satanic
modes of panic,
but meeting human needs.

The predatory drones of war,
infernal technoids from the core
of smoking earth
are finally worth
their scrap—and little more.

A desert woman clothed with sun;
Abaddon’s legions on the run
as they retreat,
admit defeat:
the Devil’s doings, done.

The reign of Antichrist now ends
the host of heaven, triumphant, rends
satanic skies;
before our eyes
the Bride, adorned, descends.

And though my muse shall never quit,
her inspiration lags a bit;
apostates curse,
the world grows worse—
the Devil throws a fit.

Of beasts and fatal head-wounds healed
and wrathful angel’s scrolls unsealed
I’ve had enough,
and call God’s bluff:
Apocalypse revealed.

Heart of sadness cease your tears.
Save the rest for all the years,
Of pain, of shattering on the floor,
Of empty promises and closing doors.

Heart of gladness dim your smile.
Have some left for every mile,
Of laughter, and the rising sun,
Of adventure, and of having fun.

Heart of grieving dry your eyes.
Lift them now up to the skies,
Of gentle blue and cotton white,
Of sunny days and starry nights.

Apperantly.. Nobody is who they seem to be.
The loving, protective boyfriend.. Is not actually protective
The ******* with the worst reputation is the sweetest, most insecure person
The girl who throws stones in her words is in fact as tender and fragile as a flower
That friend that thanked you so much for being there, is a fucken psychopath that want to ruin you
Your bestfriend for years would choose her new boyfriend over you
The friends you met a few months ago would choose you over their family
The group that brought you in with all the density of love, but turned out to be using you.
That mother, that disturbed her child in the mind
That father, that ***** his daughter
That innocent seeming child... who molested you
That boy you swore was only your friend..
But loved
That same boy who swore it too but loved you back.
What a world to be alive in!
What a life you have had?
Where Apperantly.. Nobody is who they seem to be.