#theatrical
That costume you were given
I am not sure suits yourself
and that acting of yours
well, it comes across as rather coarse,
the lines could do with a bit more polishing
and quite honestly at times
I am not often sure of what I am watching.
It hurts me most to say,
but unfortunately
you left me all the way
and my dear
this performance of yours
is as much as your formal love, insincere.
I am no expert on the science
but lend me the booklet
and i'm sure I could perform thrice the better than I have seen.
Then, perhaps, you may summon the courage again,
to say I've none the value great enough
to court your self proclaimed mastery
Tah!
Apr 1
Apr 1, 2026 at 12:39 PM UTC
A lament in broken measures
(Classical • Orchestral • Theatrical Metal • Cosmic Liturgy)
---
Movement I — Adagio Doloroso (4/4)
Invocation of the Heart
I descended into flesh believing tenderness was holiness.
They named me god, but I learned mortals bruise divinity easily.
I was the Heart‑Warrior,
breastplate forged of patience,
hands empty of weapons,
offering shelter instead of conquest.
Gethsemane came to me wounded,
olive‑branch veins still bleeding from an empire of ruin.
I became rehearsal space,
a quiet cathedral where grief could warm its hands.
I mistook endurance for destiny.
I mistook devotion for choice.
---
Movement II — Andante con Sospensione (6/8)
The Arrows
Each promise arrived as an arrow,
feathered with almost,
tipped with soon,
loosed gently so I wouldn’t hear the bowstring snap.
Arrow of I don’t know what I want.
Arrow of you matter to me.
Arrow of not now, but stay.
They embedded themselves in my ribs,
and still I sang —
because gods believe suffering is sacred
when it wears the costume of love.
I did not bleed loudly.
I bled rhythm.
---
Movement III — Scherzo Fractura (7/8)
The Split Time
Waynestar watched from the rafters,
constellation‑quiet,
while Hera counted the measures I was losing myself in.
The tempo lurched.
Day spoke one truth.
Night played another.
Hands were taken, then withdrawn.
Eyes confessed, then recanted.
I was friend when convenient,
lover when needed,
ghost when accountability knocked.
This was not polyphony —
this was dissonance pretending to be harmony.
---
Movement IV — Grave e Maestoso (5/4)
Chloris
Enter Chloris, crowned in spring,
perfumed with secrecy,
calling it patience.
She did not knock on the temple doors.
She learned the side passages.
She learned how to bloom in shadows
and call it growth.
Two gardens tended at once,
both still fenced by vows not yet buried.
The stars did not condemn —
they simply went quiet.
---
Movement V — Allegro Ferito (9/8)
The Accusation of the Heart
Do not tell me this was healing.
Healed hands do not tremble between choices.
Healed mouths do not ration truth into palatable halves.
I was not asking to be chosen above all.
I was asking not to be unmade.
Do not call confusion wisdom.
Do not call secrecy kindness.
Do not call my patience permission.
I am not a rehearsal.
I am not a waiting room.
I am not collateral in a war you refuse to name.
---
Movement VI — Lento Funebre (3/4)
The Funeral
Tonight, we bury my Muse.
No fire.
No spectacle.
Only a shallow grave dug with honesty.
Gethsemane lies wrapped in linen of what‑could‑have‑been,
olive leaves pressed over her eyes
so she does not have to watch herself walk away.
I lower my lyre into the earth.
The arrows remain —
not as wounds,
but as markers:
Here stood a god who loved cleanly.
The choir holds a single note
until even memory stops vibrating.
---
Coda — Morendo (∞)
God of Endings
I am InkWept,
god of endings,
not because I destroy,
but because I know when to release.
This is not hatred.
This is clarity.
I leave the altar unburned.
I leave the door unlocked.
But I take my heart with me.
If there is another life where you choose yourself,
perhaps I will meet you there.
For now —
the music resolves.
Silence.
Jan 22
Jan 22, 2026 at 1:40 AM UTC
A muse to darkness, candle that frays,
the bud of the rose plant
sullies the brave.
A kiss under veil, decorum deceit,
the seed has been planted
and curdles beneath.
Like vines they entangle
the voice of the saint
thy soul they shall strangle
and crush, a
restraint,
chokes
the wind
of
breath comes back for a moment,
the wind howls wild for it has been defiled,
the fiend persists with ashen words
but howls protect from unholy verse.
Your wildest dream, hearts desire.
these things you've seen inside my fire.
You walked away and yet
she stands before you
her words still trickle in,
and then they floor you.
Mar 17, 2025
Mar 17, 2025 at 7:35 AM UTC
Let's talk honestly shall we?
It's easier to have a face to face with the devil
To communicate with the dead and summon evil
Draw a circle, scratch a pentagram in the middle
With a flame dancing on the peak of a candle
Flickering at the outmost tips of the symbol
Sandle wood incent lit, hit a gong or crash symbol
Then a little rhythmic hum to conclude the opening ritual
Pretty simple
The theatrical aspect varies culture to culture
But the critical structure, the essence, the flavor
The nature of "just call and I'll be there" is there
Let's be honest here, you don't get that with prayer
You'd have better luck with a comatose soothsayer
A blind palm reader, or and end of days sandwich board holder
The one on the corner screaming about unspeakable horror
Just think about it
What do you got to do to talk to your lord and savior?
Is his policy open door?
Does he have your back while going through your personal war?
You're trying to survive the unjust life he made and you're in store for
He just stands back and tallies the score
"IF YOU WEREN'T GOING TO HELP THEN WHAT WERE THE EXTRA SET OF FOOTPRINTS IN THE SAND FOR?!?"
This is straight from his written lore, though purposely vague on what's real and what's a metaphor
What are the odds you're right?
He designed you to never be able to directly interact,
Explain that
It's a wildly overlooked fact
Infact,
It's what knocks his believability off track
You look at him and you go blind as a bat,
Why would he do that?
His voice will cause your ears to bleed if your head doesn't explode on first contact
He didn't have to design it like that!
The only answered prayers are those of musicians, athletes and the beautiful people who can act
The rest of us? Good luck Jack
If he hears your prayers then most of the times he's just like, "naw, fuuck that."
What's up with that?
Pretty convenient
©2024
Feb 3, 2024
Feb 3, 2024 at 7:14 PM UTC
i never really liked the color yellow
so protuberant
kinda theatrical
too blithe
but it just so happens to be your favorite
and that's exactly what i need
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 8:49 AM UTC
Darkness leaped in, smothered my psyche.
Led me down a hall, into the cinema I went, not willing.
A theatrical presentation, an outcry ensued.
Perception forever altered.
A mind completely new.
My ideals, my dreams, dissipating with the ending scene.
Go forth I did, dashing into the illuminating beam.
A challenge of realization, no immediate hesitation.
Advancement granted, the understanding,
of another dimension.
Speechless, words cannot explain.
Abandoned, with nothing left.
An experience to entertain,
while under the dancing rain,
Vanity's Game.
Feb 23, 2016
Feb 23, 2016 at 2:37 PM UTC
Your Style Can Not Dominate
Not Being Crude, Not Spreading Hate
I'm Just Spreading The Word, Going To Radiate
Even Without It, You'd Probably Meet Your Fate
Taking You Down Has Become My Mission
Going To Split Your Mind, Sanity Fission
And Your World In Two, Territorial Division
I'm Coming At You With Insane Precision
Not Going To Rush, Going To Be Tactical
Make Sure My Plans Are 100% Practical
Attacking Aimlessly Would Be Impractical
Give My People A Show, Theatrical
I'm Flawless, You're Flawed
When People Hear My Words, They Applaud
When They Hear yours? They Call The Firing Squad
I Don't Think Inside The Box, I Think Abroad
I'm Guessing By Now You Must Be Hurting
You Coming To Me, Asking For Some Kind Of Converting
The Topic Kills You, You're Diverting
To You. I'm Quite Alerting
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC