'neath waves of
ancient sunken treasure,
delving neath oceans
lost riches of bygone eras
destined to respectfully
resurface its significance,
midst new horizons' creations
as clarity's power deeply inhales
the depths of salty sea's tumult
Can one explode inwards? It's hard to know.
I'm putting on a show,
but I don't feel it.
I'm catching smoke and
If this is the end then
end it now.
Don't drag it forward and leave me
suffocating in the darkness.
Alone in the unknown.
I am not me, I am
the man in the mirror.
The tumult in my head and heart
Playing with structure and format, written in 5 minutes so..? Outlet-ing.
And with a hollowed heart I
breathe in this batch of brimstone.
I feel the burn and disintegrate as the
high--low?--takes me away.
"Ascension," and "declension" are
irrelevant when your ups are downs and
downs are spent getting back up.
With this splintered heart I
drown myself in rotgut.
I taste the misery and know
I am incomplete.
The sauce take off the edge,
but blurs the lines that much more.
I walk the line, unsure, how
close I am to
tumbling off the cliff.
With an angry heart I
type an angry text.
Every letter bears my indignation--
a seal of my consent.
I sit there for awhile and
wallow in black contempt.
I toss it against the wall and watch it
shatter into it's little pieces.
It's broken in such a way
it can't be put back together.
Fate is such a cruel mistress:
you live your life and then you're
subjected to tumult and torment.
The ignorance in this Hell of a hole is appalling! Day in and day out, I find myself witness to the testaments of fools and blasphemers of common sense. They come out of the woodworks like flies on dog **** during a hot, summer day. They've come to wallow in the filth that is their world of contradictions and lack of respect. I hate to use the word "****"-- not really-- but ****, if that's not how I feel and what they make me think. And I swear on a stack of Bibles written by Judas himself that some days these heathens make me want to come down upon them like the wrath of an angry God. There's nothing that makes my liver quiver and brain bitter like a dose of disregard for those who are just trying to live a life free of the poison that is society's naïveté. And trust me--I want to take matters in to my own hands, but I think waving around a loaded .45 in these *******' faces would just scare the **** out of them, and I have wisdom to know that fear and respect are two different things. Alas, short of a less passive and more aggressir death threat, I don't think I could get these sorry sacks to change their ways. I guess I'm just stuck in a world where "understanding," is something you do when you're hanging out with your friends beneath the overpass and sharing a ******* joint.
— The End —