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Devin Ortiz Jan 2016
Hatred replaced the beating
The violent vibrations hollowed
Once lush and lively places
Carved in feelings I cannot understand

Conflicting with virtues
Asking what is the right thing
Introspection reveals the fear
Of the shameful devil in the mirror

Transformed from the wickedness
Which has grown wild and cruel
Bloom these demon eyes
Luminating into the might with pride.

Beckon down deep, the cold echoes
An evil mind holds the truth
Toxic lifeblood eroded away
The former, the King of Beast in my stay
ZT May 2015
When the sun will cease to shine,
And the moon hides behind the clouds.
When all the stars have fallen
It will prevail, Darkness will.

What should I do by then?
Should I wait with arms wide open?
Let darkness be embraced by me
And be bound together for whole eternity?

Even before, I have known darkness
It kept me away from loneliness.
So darkness be embraced by me,
Come to me and set me free.

Bathe my heart with sadness
Take my mind too, fill it with madness
Drop my soul in the abyss of wickedness
And lead my life to nothingness

I can already hear it coming
The nearer it comes, the greater the fear I’m feeling
But I won’t let these petty emotions overcome me
For in the place I’ll be going, Fear and Courage wears the same face

It is already here, now come and take me
Set my spirit free
Chad Chumley May 2014
I’ve seen enough **** and ***** for a lifetime.
It’s growing old now.
It’s a mix of lust, addiction, and fantasy.
Mixed together seeing the same thing
And not having love.
It’s confusing and misplaced attention.
Martin Narrod May 2014
It's like this, and then there was total recall. Fast like a safety plan made wrong and then bouncing in and out all the way down the hall. Up through cable cars, Korean fast food market, wet fish, soupy street, concrete cracks filled with crab meat and **** heads. Just a square, a five block, two street, sideways quadrangle, beat of the Tenderloin, hour of the dove. Every one's dead on these loose ends. Hills of the back of her backside, skin of the back of her neck. Rapture is the grave of the sunset, memory is that thing that I said.

No one cans in carnivores, no one runs moves like a shepherd. Sunday, daft as candy, luck in the ways of the prophet. Canon of the blaze of every woman that died today. The sleep setting, the motorcycle bending the hollow, the ravines noisy interlude, up through the rough and the tangles, huddles in a six pack, three or four walking up the block to meet the rest of them.

The skin doesn't fit right, it wears wrong, the shoulders stiff, the masseuse excuses himself. Buckets of flowers hang from the ceiling like stripped cat christmas decorations in suburban mastermind serial killer resort town. Everyone is quiet because they gotta. They move their feet like they were hurrying death into a red volcano, like they were the errand of red from the top bell to the bottom of the town.

I sit on a roof top, baking in the noon day sun. Stripping sticks and stems off the side to sideways, just roasting away, laying, low in the afternoon light. I see a girl with her hands on her skirt, wobbling, scooting a priest card on a periwinkle terra-cotta.  I move my head, turn it upside round to take a better look. No one counts to ten when they see me. The gangster that woke up isn't the gangster that went to sleep last night. My wickedness ended my words mean your bright decay. So I ride the pavement exhausted, burying my coughs in an L-shaped arm

— The End —