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Despair Jun 18
I’m Sorry

You are my most regrettable sin,
Forever with you, I shall sit alone…
In a field full of fractured seeds, waiting to be sown.
For you, I will grow a thicker skin.
Just so that with you, I can suffer through this grin.

My father took me to a circus.
It was one of those old fashioned ones. They’d used animals, still.
I’d seen that animal within its cage, its disposition all too similar to my own
It mattered not if I was onstage, or offstage.
There was not a moment where you or I did not ‘cheat out’.

Stage left.
Stage right.
Back Stage.
Onstage.

You and I were the clowns who ‘played’ everywhere.
For I, the jester was the only personality that I could encage
It didn’t matter in which way that they would stare
As long as my smile could be seen, it didn’t matter if it was more
than I could bear.

In my act of selfishness, It was you that I had made
Because I could no longer wear this jester’s mask alone.
And for this sin, I know that I shall never atone
I stole you away from your promenade…
Peeled you from a novel that was never mine.
Brought you into my life, where you were never meant to shine.

But I couldn’t bear it…
This biological function
The need to never be ‘alone’
If I had only known… god, if I had only known.
That my idea of strength was ‘sad’
And incomplete, like a forgotten draft upon a sketch pad.

Those childhood memories could never resonate within you, nor I.
We were xerox copies, printed within a black room
Duplicates, whose polaroid had bled, stained with obsidian dye.
I made you with the selfish request- to pick up the mask when I could no longer bear it
‘Please protect me’, I’d said. What a horrible sin that I commit.

For I should have known. Even ‘good’ memories are made at the expense of others.
The animals who put on their show, only to lay, as if dead within their cells.
The young actors and actresses, who will never again see their mothers.
To the ring leader, who wonders… Why does he deserve this hell?
Finally, that smiling jester… Whose world as long since lost all of its colors.
Despair Jun 16
Again, it shall sound
That thing’s performance, a reprise of their phlegmatic number.
A song that couldn’t sway a breeze within the era they was born.
A heartbeat that would’ve been cauterized before it could’ve sworn,
‘I refuse to hate them. Even if this world is hopeless, everyone’s life is precious.’

A confused existence, for a beast that is synecious
How pitiful, the fact that the beast wishes to speak
YET, its holds its tongue, for its songs of sorrow emanate like terrifying roars
For the synecious monster, it only possesses one future- and this future is bleak.

Forsaken by the Gods that the monster loved so dearly
A forsaken behemoth  that had lost the privilege to pray
Left to rot and roar, until one day, it fades away.

“Tell me God, has this beast lost right of passage to its stairway-
That will take it to the unconditional happiness it strives for
Even today?”
The monster wails, its voice bellowing into a growl.
Knowing that it is ****** to the pit, for its soul is deemed foul.
It is not the monster’s job to build itself and mankind out of clay
Try and try, however, they may…

One cannot control anymore,
The impending date it is set to expire.
And It will never join heaven’s empire.

The monster lives the rest of its life, playing a game of frame and shame
The ‘game’ that became
A method to maim and maim…

Until the monster has lost its will to speak, its will to feel, its will to classify itself
So it lives as something bendable
And perfectly expendable.
Apathy is the aim of the game,
And such is to accept your life as unamendable.
Despair Jun 2018
Come one, Come all…
To the circus of repose, where the bereft of life crawl.
An eidolon, named night
On that black throne reigned upright
But this wasn’t that man’s story, you see
And so, an eidolon he could never be.

A man who delved through nocturne,
A sliver of a web encasing that pierrot’s mask.
When would death meet him in rendezvous?
A one-way mirror of a man one could never look through…
And not even himself, he could ever see
But just an empty figure, staring right back at me.

The pierrot watched the circus of the ******, their tickets a one way gate…
To a land they would enter, where only endless death was their fate.
And yet, that eidolon stared forwards, pitying men like poe
Whose woes were legion and legends, a red string tied to a crow.

Talents were prosperous and plentiful around him
As broad as the performers, however their thoughts were grimm,
And each of them craved this rendezvous, a rendezvous with mercy
A fate that not even fortuna could ever properly foresee.

Happy faces peered up towards them at dusk,
And even if those performers wore masks, it was the cast’s job to be brusque
And formally distract the audience from their own empty husks.

A stage full of fakers, an audience full of liars
The eidolon thought to himself then, just how cruel was their maker?

He met his death at rendezvous, that broken smile spitting at ‘mercy’s door
And those who watched, could only pretend to abhor
The burning spectacle before them, how beautiful it sparked
An ultimate ending, to the man’s last work of art.
Despair Apr 2018
The rain pattering upon the window panes would drown out the screaming.
The nightmares that you put into my brain, gave my life meaning.
I could see through eyes that weren't mine,
into lives that were far from sublime.

Their tears were like a treat, a bitter chocolate that made my heart flutter...
Because what you shared with me, was a feeling unlike any other.
Their remarkable sadness, I felt as my own.
Had I not felt what you'd forced me to feel, there is no way I would've ever known.

Sensors that are there for me, are but vacant to the large majority.
What they cannot see and will not see,
combined by what I cannot see and will not see,
It drowns me.

My words rise like bubbles to the surface of this ocean.
If I press that sole piano key, the sound reverberates for an eternity.
And yet, it ceases to wade up above the surface.
I'm but a coelacanth, and my swimming is clumsy.

Not even the sound of that lovely train tune billowing throughout the wintry air...
Not even the audible tone of your crisp voice, nor your hissing within my ear,
Could make me wish to live. Yes, I know, life is unfair.
But it's so much easier for you to say that while you're up there.

The painter who paints with only a black and white canvas,
will have an easier time meshing hues, as opposed to the one who must encompass,
the broad colors of others. Their pigments, their variations,
with some paints dry and cracked, and others melting into congolomerations

Ah, yes. How much easier it is for you to say that from up there.

The lies resound the loudest, because the blatant call for help ceased to be loud enough.
Tell me, God, why wasn't my call loud enough?
In life, I have learned, yes it is not fair.
So I must take what I want. I cannot just sit and stare.

The strong prevail over the weak, or so, that is what you have lovingly taught me.
The man and the nightmare, splaying my insides out upon the pavement
electrocuting my body until not a single grief was left to be.
That pain drained away thanks to you, leaving not sadness... But resentment.

That I am this lone coelacanth, whose colors and intonations
touch but the surface of her own ocean, with but one measley formation.

And yet you swim with me, even if this swimming is clumsy.
As the lone, sea serpent... Whose scales glitter so vibrantly.
Dull to so many others, whom couldn't see your shine.
But I could with these eyes that you so humbly gave to me,
and even if I do not wish to live this life you gave me all the time,

you are but a buried treasure I call mine.
Despair Apr 2018
Devour My Memories, I Utter My Thanks

The faintest heartbeat, beating incessently within the womb of the accursed
A plague, a toxin, a parasite adorned in rozen love...
How despair will foster you as its own soon.
Despair that dusts blue skies to crimson.
Painting the earth with the despair you, so courteously, gifted...

A life she was meant to live, and a life she was almost denied.
Who was it that almost cried when she died?
Not the mother,
nor the father.
Not the god that wouldn't bother...

But the one whom those pointed and screamed
“Monster”.

Adorn thee with strength, needed to breathe
Adorn thee with love, needed to grieve
As an infant, our adoring spirits you teethed...
Our child, concieved with love...

Father adorned your body in gallant, red petals...
Sprouting purple fruit, that blossomed upon your beautiful body.
Mother, saw nothing, for the sugar in her eyes...
Nullified her to the girl that slowly died.

Your brother we had, whom we ensured held your hand...
Overcome with corruption, he mangled those porcelain bones,
It needed to be planned.
to dust they turned, hollowing them from the inside
until the walking world grew barren, and your canvas lost its color.

They covered their eyes to the “us” that they saw...
And you, who wanted to live, wished to know why their spirits died.
You asked of us, begged as a young soul, to not be blind
So HE painted your canvas with color.
Distorted blacks, containing every hue that even a treasure of a species only saw...
You saw, for one simple reason,

We loved you.
We showed you that the conceptual distortion you felt...
That solidified pain...

It, too could become a comfort. And I became your comfort,

the only comfort that you need.

— The End —