Bleak doctrines
wandering wisps of wit with
congested callous coffins
in their wake

waves watching
wishing
when silence strikes and speaks
longer listings that get louder as violence peaks

crudely unrefined
found in the darkness without a sight
one of a kind
the crack  in the dark and slip for the light

Emboldened by hyphenated misanthropy
cautious of vibrating
swapping stories with storks
sharing salvation amongst sycamores
if surreptitious shores could whisper secrets to tides
similar to seraphim shining star light
the dark awfully mournful
would the two dance
further than space and time
confined by nothing
the neurotic romance
bewildering
reminding them both how
empty they are
without one another

When I lost my innocence, my sanity
Went on a binge that has lasted
Years, and it hasn’t visited in a while
Nights spent staring at blank walls
Trying to make sense of something
That just doesn’t
The hysteria is maddening when
The voice in your head doesn’t answer
Where do wandering lost souls venture to
Or do they stick around their tragedies
I feel my past selves attempting to drown
My happiness, every time it stops by
The moments fleet
But the carved manic lunacy remains

Stuck on the edge of a broken keyboard
typing and telling the stories
that have branded my skin
a different shade of moral
you see where I come from
abandoned alleys speak louder
than the busiest boulevards
people aren’t as friendly
as they seem in the pamphlets
it’s halloween year round
with the masks everyone
hides behind
every honest answer
is cut with a lie
and we have a habit
of getting high
on everyone else’s mistakes
but our own.

walking down back alleys
searching for consolidation
the wanderer takes the streets
the wanderer has no home
he follows the sound of
the deceitful racketeering
of the men sitting on his pride
choking it up
like a funeral service notice
2 weeks after the funeral
with empty pockets
and an emptier stomach
the venture undertook by the the swalloing of pride
every time
compromise finesses
his naive heart
and sun burnt skin
as the moon comes out
to steal our decisiveness.

the inconsistency in life
is enough to make anyone nauseous
the roller coaster
without any seatbelt
serotonergic and
lucid
the ride is short
and rather disappointing
destiny is for those
that believe their future isn't a choice
it's an assignment
never on time
subpar at best
common sense is scarce
a drought in  unbridled undercurrents
the tide, a tug of war
between the disparaged moon
and lonely depths of the abysmal blue
lost abroad
found wandering the streets at daybreak
following nothing
but the wind
ambidextrously ambitious
and narcotically nostalgic
the passing time fills my veins with
impatience for better times
and better highs.

Intricate to the point where
elegance is a warning label
as if quality has always been inferred
the simplicity behind it all
could be considered
narcotically nauseating
the roller coaster
is one ridden too many times
the rhythm of the atmosphere
is elusive enough
to distract anybody from reality
and within those moments
you are in another universe
completely.