I've been asked
why I've been cold
or seemingly - just mean
tell you the truth,
quite recently
I don't care
for a thing.

I've been asked
quite frequently
to state my sanity,
or maybe I'm
just acting strange
against all clarity.

I've been asked
behind the scenes
why I hate my writing,
it may be so
that in my core
I don't want to be seen.

I've been asked...
what have I been asked ?
I don't remember it...
Ah, it's irrelevant
I still don't care
and never will begin...






yet, deep inside,
where all my feelings
sparkle, dimly lit
it may be short, but
for a while... I care
a tiny bit...

I've always closed my eyes to perceive my arcane side
Pushed all disorder aside so it no longer has to hide

The journey it takes me on is never calm and sweet
It's full of horror and shadows so chillingly complete

Games of merciless mischief and screams of tortured souls
It makes my interest peak when i of my fantasies take hold

And this blood that drips in oh so many ways
Drips splatters and pools and keeps my manic gaze

I run my finger through the gore and to my lips i taste
Musn't let any drop miss my mouth and go to waste

Next on my list is torture so entertaining
Your limbs i'll stretch till it is squeals you are making

Then to your soft pink belly i'll take a sharp blade
Till all your ****** hot insides are on the table neatly splayed

As you gape at me with terror in your eyes
I carve out your heart for my victory prize

Now that i have set your worthless heart free
I sit in your blood and laugh with maniacal glee
Joyful in the knowledge that your adorable heart you gave to me

prepare to shudder,
prepare to have demons taunting you,
playing disturbing games with your soul,
with a calming darkness and scary happiness.

Staining your hands with a metallic substance,
marking the walls of the invisible.
This is what happens when you touch my soul.

Creatively ugly but mouthing the word pretty.
Be careful.

It's like  I was touched by this ebony, fair eye angel with two sides.
Soaring with bloodless and sullen wings.

But there is happiness, somewhere...
Sometimes presenting itself like a optical illusion,
adding mystery to my image.

Their strange screens sounding loudly.
With electric magic imbued.
There's a mirroring all around me.
In bordered boxes and ceilinged cubes.
We're absurd, and all advanced.
An emergence carefully compiled.
Bend in a delightful, blurred dance.
Blend into the social wild.
Life is pretty, plain and plenty.
On this nonredundant sphere.  
Even so, it's essentially empty.
An assortment of souvenirs.

Through veined paths, my blood abides.
And a beating heart repeats.
A life that comes from inside.  
A bloodful sack of meat.
The ghost in the flesh machine.
Proves a life in my pale past.
In the strange nostalgic obscene.
When I was a lesser, younger cast
There is life still to come.
Between now and the coffin.
I should sprinkle it with fun.
I should carpe this diem often.