#thehumancondition
"False Demons," truly I am not filled with light —
love feels ill-fitting, and I’ve grown sick of it all.
__Is that evil?__ Or close enough — the unpleasant
truth amounts to how much you count on something
worth the space of time.
Time is money, but money won’t last you all the time.
I am dominated by my own selfishness —a selflessness
beneath a weak desire trying to please my conscience.
A teacup blushes from the steam of the kettle; the water
doesn’t really matter until it changes its matter.
And in perceiving the void within, I find new ways
to convince myself I’m decent; not generous —
just pouring parts of myself into that cup.
Maybe that’s adequate enough; clothed in love inside
a dark and musty wardrobe. For life wears you down,
the more you dress yourself for it — pressed against
the skin of an untruth: that we can only live as well
as the possessions we own.
Possessive as much, possessed by these things —
dare I say, _False Demons_.
Oct 20, 2025
Oct 20, 2025 at 12:21 PM UTC
Take the time—don’t just spend it— to watch your grind,
These dreams are brewed, steeped behind these caffeine eyes.
Still, as the sunrise scripts its golden lines, my gaze still delays
Having to put on a daily mask; trapped in yesterday’s disguise.
All of these borrowed hours lace my breath, thinned and worn,
All these seconds spent on second-guessing myself; I’m torn—
Barely paying attention to obvious life lessons due in reflection;
Skipping those lessons, now I pay with _life's_ collection.
As for facing my many regrets, it proves facing the glass—
But not all mirrors can clearly cut clean through the past.
Truths are warped, wrapped for the present, for who peer—
Peering in, fragile as much, cracked, and smeared with fear.
We search within ourselves, as all seekers must willingly do,
Searching for a love clear as glass — one that is sharp, and true.
As peach blossoms fall, and small stones roll, know: that through
The times of picking yourself up, some dust gets stuck on you.
The world isn’t so clear, especially if man’s clarity is uninvolved;
Profiting from all our scars – given titles hanging over ourselves
So many times, that prophets need to remind us of who we are
Profits, or prophets, but it all depends on who’s worth you trust.
May 25, 2025
May 25, 2025 at 12:38 AM UTC
i saw a half-dead man
at the butcher shop;
he ordered half a kilo chicken,
with half a voice;
his eyes, bloodshot,
sliced open like
the chicken’s clucking throat,
and surveyed the butcher’s knife
for traces of humanity:
i don’t presume he found any.
the butcher verbalized an
unofficial bill of transaction:
the man paid with a 100,
and a 50 -
he was offered a 20 in return
by the butcher, who pressed
a ****** fingerprint on the note,
at the denomination.
the man reached for it…
but retracted halfway,
and said,
‘keep the change’.
Jan 11, 2025
Jan 11, 2025 at 1:58 AM UTC
prone to narcolepsy;
a second thought, like -
a can of pepsi.
sold my peace for
a moment’s notice;
for the panic that utters -
‘you better not blow this!’
i sulk, i cry, i moan… it rains -
the clouds pull closer to
the gravity of my pain;
the birds find shelter at
the neighbour’s windowpane -
they leave me to dry in a room -
terrified, and insane.
i can feel the bed
warming up to my shape;
there’s a stain on the pillow
that reeks of sour grapes -
i try to rub it off,
but give in to my human make:
i curse the neighbour’s birds -
through a ****
on the moss-green drapes.
i hope it’s worth it:
all the trials, and the errors.
i long for a night,
devoid of terror -
so i may sing for a while,
with nothing to lose;
‘to be, or not to be’ -
left to me - to choose.
Dec 20, 2024
Dec 20, 2024 at 12:34 AM UTC
All great minds have been called insane .. Superfluous indulgence in petty day's gossip is not where human consciousness is supposed to find it's grave_Indeed ! They know not .. the beauty of the other side ..A place not easily accessible ... A bridge not visible.. The ladder too steep .. Or maybe hidden in plain sight !They see not ! They care not !
They just continue in their petty herds !
Of everyday groceries !
And predictable backbitchings !
How shallow, how very shallow !
Apr 30, 2020
Apr 30, 2020 at 4:47 AM UTC
Out by thy window to Hope
Thou seest, but the green sigh.
Hope for all other life shimmer,
As dark black consumes thy nigh.
Yet, thou resort to vile tirade, for
Samekind breathing thy exhaled air,
In knowledge, indictment just a mirage.
The anger merely reflection of a fear.
Do thee then, think in retrospect ?
Or do then, prospectively act ?
What shall be thy salvation ?
When thou deny, what is but fact !
Killing thy way to the top, Human.
Death ,destruction; ever on thy mind.
Why then do thee hope for revelation ?
To thy fellow never, thou were kind !
Ignominious downfall imminent,
Epiphany written on the wall !
It takes a toll to be sentient,
As thy numbers grow; to fall !
Nature can sustain only so much,
Thy ignorance, avarice as vile.
Preparedness never for this coming,
A war against all you did defile! Yet,
May thee rise from ashes, resurrected.
Sustenance, compassion_ thine aim !
All is not lost, if thou realise this,
Viirtuousity: thy only saving dame !
Apr 1, 2020
Apr 1, 2020 at 12:57 PM UTC
The Morning in America is dark and cold,
But I’m no regular New York Soul,
Yet recently I’ve hit an All Time Low,
Things might get better, Maybe I Don’t Know,
But last night I Woke the F**K Up,
The Good in Me is stirring up,
The Weight of the World is Overwhelming,
I’ll just be a Robot, like the 80s Film,
I see the Guillotine dropping fast,
The Hand of God saved me at last,
He Is Still the Same, I finally found that out.
I begin to truly grasp the Human condition,
Why we all want, why we all need Fashion.
Sep 22, 2019
Sep 22, 2019 at 8:51 AM UTC
Sometimes
The continual death
Makes me wonder:
Is life only a single breath?
A breath that is held
In the cruel clutches
Of something that brings hardship
To all it touches
Emotions always swirl
Anger, hatred, fury
Jealousy and judgment
Making the world your jury
This single breath
It never seems to leave
A weight on your shoulders
With a nature to deceive
Until that wrenched day
When all you know
Begins to mournfully grieve
When the breath does finally go
And take its blessed leave
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 9:59 PM UTC
As a child
I wasn't really afraid of the dark,
There weren't really monsters in my closet and the feeling of checking under my bed was never something that I had to fear,
But as I grew older,
I learned that the monster was always in a far away place,
I learned in school that monsters didn't really exist and there was nothing I should have to fear,
I grew up in a Christian home
Learning that in some way I needed to be saved and I accepted that protection
Learning that living in hell for eternity was worth being saved from
But in my innocence I forgot about the monsters that live here
As planes are crashed into buildings
And snipers in cars
Inciting terror upon innocence
As a child in a free nation is oblivious to the fact that there is something to truly be afraid of
Something that's hidden
The cracks in the glass of this facade only seem to spider across the dark crevices of my brain wishing to...
Wishing to be free
Clawing their way up my throat
Asking for forgiveness instead of permission
Wishing to let go of their bonds because the only thing that's keeping them there is the thought that they could be kept at bay
Brittle chains with keys in the locks and the only thing that stops them from being set free is us
I've been told the eyes are the window to the soul
That if you look closely you can see their thoughts and desires
And demons
And as it turns out I'm blind to the fact that when I try to look in the mirror
That monsters won't chase me in my sleep and claw away at my soul
That no one is in control of the monsters
The monsters are in control of me.
Humanities greatest lie is that we can save our selves.
The monsters won't be free because we won't let them take control until they do
And this great deception has conceived this monstrosity that nobody has seen because everyone is afraid to look inside ourselves to see how awful the wound really is
We can't see our own glass houses caving in
The monstrosities of this world are our own creation
With homicidal tendencies
and a Picasso like disposition
Spraying our own blood upon this ripped apart canvas and calling it art
As a child I was told monsters didn't exist
That, the monsters were in a far away place
They couldn't attack me in my sleep and that there was nothing to fear in this world
I just didn't realize it was all in my head.
As children we are afraid of the monsters under our bed
Asking our parents to look under neath them for us so that they can prove that it's just our imagination,
"There's nothing to be afraid of" they tell me
Running to the parents room in the middle of the night to ask to stay with them because we don't grasp the reason why we are scared to begin with.
I wonder if nightmares are from the monsters trying to be free
Breaking out of their shackles of our parents lies telling us that monsters don't exist,
That there's nothing you have to fear because the monsters can't touch you.
And you as an innocent young child convince yourself that they only tell you facts because you can't comprehend that,
It's all in your head,
The greatest lie that the devil ever told was that he didn't exist,
The second is that there are no monsters,
Lying to ourselves cause we are the monsters
And they lie to us so we put them off as non existent
It was all... in my head.
I'm gonna ask you to look in my eyes,
I wonder,
I wonder if you can see mine
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 11:34 PM UTC
Upon the receding mass,
we float, imperceptible
gathered with pieces; clues,
hints of what we assume;
perception of truth; together,
we know; but we cannot,
we cannot because we are not,
we are not together, we are not
together, we are not together;
we are only apart, gathered,
but scattered, fragmented,
a song that cannot begin
or end; pausing, hesitating,
charging, hurting, confessing,
but not to each other and only
if it makes the pain go away;
we know when to cry; we know
when to open the box, spilling
the contents before us; pieces
pieces of our heart; and they
will pick one; the one that
our children walk with; to join
the leaves that blow; to join
the rivers that dry; to join
the money that bleeds; to join
the promises that lie; to join
the love that hates; to join
the assurance that confuses;
to join the winds that die;
for what helplessness cannot,
prayer will replace; if only
to believe that someone will remember;
remember we love them more than
we love the days when we were young
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC