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OpenWorldView Sep 2018
You took my hope
to find the right path.

You tormented me
denied me a look at life
to entertain Thanatos.

**** you and your gods
who feed on misery.

You took my life
even before I woke.
Joe Aug 2017
In Greek mythology, the god of love, Cupid,
is the counterpart of Thanatos, the god of death.
You’re probably thinking, that’s an odd pair.
The Greeks were all about odd pairs.
Are you really surprised?
Because love is contentment and happiness.
Whereas death,
Well, no one really wants to talk about that.
But these obviously contradictory themes
Are more similar than we think.
One, At some point we’re gonna experience either.
Two, you don’t want to experience either on your own.
No one wants to die alone
Nor have unrequited love.
And three, the sensations of both are eerily similar.
Now I know why you take my breath away
And why my heart palpitates
whenever I see you;
The same sensations that someone gets
When they’re having a cardiac arrest.
Falling in love is like being on the precipice of death
Maybe that’s why they call it “falling” in love
Because when you fall from something,
You will splat on the ground,
With your insides out there for someone to see
And you’re wondering
if they like what they see.
love and death's eerie similiarities
Alaric Moras Mar 2017
You steal your thoughts
From memories never lived
Hoping that terror will hide
In a whisky filled teacup

It's the 1 a.m blues again
(Everything is burning
Everything is burning
Everything is burning)
And your friends pretend happiness
By feigning death and snoring.

You did not sign up for this, you know,
Not the cold nor the bit of blood
From the lip you cut too hard
But you've got it, anyway,
So you may as well ****
But everyone who'd touch you is gone,
Looking to love and not simply make it

You cannot think what then you were

Now it's morning
Go to church, eat a sermon
The leaves are crackling in the wind
And your Sunday is cried away at the pews
Breadcrumbs burning your ears
A poet can bleed, they say,
If his ears are torn up with words enough

Now it's night again and you're trying
"Beloved", you say. The mirror does not reply
"Beautiful", you say. The mirror does not reply
"Broken", you say. The lights go out
Now you can go to bed
With your eyes open
Waiting for sleep to say
"How do you do? Let's hold each other forever."
Wanted figs sweet seeds fringes
cluster of oh mmm charmin little freckles,
Myrrh & chessnut eyes teasing
chocolate  taste licking
me f a b u lo u s-ly
Skilled as a swift leopards paw
your ticklish personae forest.    forces
me to kneal as a sandalwood essence
mingles and trepidates
opiatic.     cocoa with lush vanilla
God on dew drops evaporating from
our skins.      covering high firenheits
lasting sensual excitement
superstars collidin and exploding
like supernovaes ....soooo good!!!
It's hot in here. . .
Imagines by Impeccable
Space Poetic love some
I am wrapped in her algid arms.
I am lost in her evocative glare.
I stand, environed by the Keres,
Those dilapidated demons.

Azrael, my craven shadow, clings
To me as a vulture stalks its prey.
Thanatos does each step possess
Forward into this acidulous air.

Fissured masks release languid screams
That fall upon pallid faces that have
Long since wilted in her Stygian ****.
Enervated laughs drone in mangy ears.

I stand on the periphery of this
Asphyxiating cistern. I ambulate
Across this sable field that shall
Become the executioner’s blade.
William Crowe II Jun 2014
O Reaper,
dark jewel in the shimmering sea of night
sickly flower blooming in the garden
pale wanderer of the doom-bound desert,
weave for me a tapestry
and drape it over the blinking stars.

O Death,
sweet fragrance of the morning
rapping on the windowsill,
compose for me a symphony
to haunt my ears as I sleep.

O Ghost,
gentle and geriatric in the dim moonlight,
sweep off the collecting dust
and blow it into the four winds
to carry us off on the backs
of the eagles.

O Ghoul,
your silhouette as the sunlight dims,
carve for me a juniper tree
so that I may dance around it
and welcome thee.

O Plague,
humming in the breath of the insects
crawling on the furs of the beasts,
pour for me a strong drink
to quench the flames of my disease.

O Maiden,
creeping into cronehood as the clocks stop
drifting down the clear stream into the damp
floating with the smoke to be imprisoned
multi-faced and schizophrenic,
sing for me a rhapsody
a hymn for my church of undoing.

O Glacier,
still and monumental,
melt into the sea of shining
and polish for me a mirror
to see clearly a glimpse
of mortality.

O Thanatos,
born at the beginning of time
flowering into youthful beauty
falling corpse-like in the rocks,
kiss the clouds and the trees
and write for me some poetry
to ease me into the long sleep.
every moment
is continually shedding itself;
sloughing off the skin of time,
dying, into the past,
to freshen in exposure,

this moment.

to live, really
to breathe, by

constantly transforming,
the body is never solid,
here, there, as atomic flashes,
electrons popping in and out
of existence,
an appearance made,
to depart, in a flicker.

all turns off, like this,
always, eventually,

threshed and stripping
bare chaos
voraciously burns,

returning through extinguish
on smokey black horizons.

sinking, into
tendrils weaving,
knitting by fray,
tapestries engendered
by enveloping decease.

you feel this
don’t you?
as much of it may be.

it is the nearest of near,
and dearly intimate,
passions corrosive kiss,
oscillating, opening,
to retract, in flow,
pushing in
to pull away,

thanatos is eros
together, apart again,

the heart is aware,
supremely aware of this happening,
even when the mind is fooled
by apparent stability,

and the soul surrenders to
it's inevitability,
even hungering for
divine destruction,
as basic an urge
as the creative impulse.

to be composed
is to be subject to decompose,
fertilizing compositions
in cosmic chasms.

our lungs darkly shining
with every fall of the chest

each breath
one breath closer
to the final breath,

each exhale
a letting go
of what can’t be held

the expelled
foreshadows annihilation,
on the fading road, towards
this mortal coils entropic end;
a preparation.

to live, surely, is to meet loss
over and over,
to love, fully, is to grieve
again and again,

there is a deep
melancholic knowing
that exists in all living things,

water drops
tears like rain,
leaves fall
like sighs,

and everything

our melancholy
might be sacred
could we truly embrace,
and feel, this reality:

death is the ever present condition.

— The End —