"apocalyptic" poems
Love her like
She's the raging sea,
Unrestrained and dark and deep.
And you crave her touch
Through aching pores
As you slowly drown in sleep.
Love her like
She's the tender storm,
A lovely shade of grey.
Like with every whiff
Of breath she takes,
She's taking yours away.
Love her like
She's the silent clouds
With calmness floating by.
Like you'd want to make
Sweet love to her
Under the moon's apocalyptic eye.
Love her like
She's the blazing fire,
And you lust the candied pain.
Like she's the disease
That swallowed you whole
And you'd like to die again.
When her gentle touch
Makes your chest explode,
And your addiction is your girl.
Promise you'll love her
Through hell and back,
Or don't you dare love her at all.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 6:21 AM UTC
You are my pink skies with candy floss clouds
My open fields flooded far and wide with cherry blossoms
and green feathered sparrows singing tunes of your favourite songs that sound kinda-something-sorta like your voice,
The walls in my castle populated perfectly with portraits of you
and you already know portraits are my favourite.
Somehow my imagination bound beautifully with my reality such that I could tell no difference.
You are my Utopia.
But utopia is subject to interpretation.
You like candy floss occasionally, pink is not your favourite colour and I do not even know what your favourite flower is
Without forgetting to mention, you prefer beaches.
You like puns, peaches, foxes and fairies but my world has none of that, I want to accept those but you will not have it any other way.
I want our worlds to collide but in a more subtle way, but when that kinda thing happens it is almost always apocalyptic
So, what is yours will never be mine and what is mine you do not even want at all.
My utopia sounds like it belongs in a book, but we all know how long that lasts.
Be sure to check out Utopian Dystopia Pt. 2!
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 2:00 PM UTC
As technology advances
What are our chances
To live in an apocalyptic place made out of waste
We will scavenge and hunt for our bread and butter
Most of us will try find shelter, whilst others in the gutter
Does it have to be like this?
Tell me if you had one wish
What will you choose when mother nature needs us
As she is the one who's ever going to feed us
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 9:40 PM UTC
Feel empty in your post apocalyptic City of Angels,
Where not even your pets are real!
An electric android, a sheep or a frog,
The whir-flutter of micro-electrical wings of a butterfly.
Good, and so you ought.
Now grab the handles of your empathy box,
And in a shared virtual hallucination –
Feel: empathy, depression, pain, delusion and despair,
The outré myriad gifts of consciousness.
Billions of discombobulated and disconnected wrecks:
Adam's sons; Eve's daughters,
And among them simulations too,
Fakes! androids!
A phony circuit of implanted semi-conscious memories,
A hive of neural malaise!
Welcome to our world;
know how dead inside I am.
You, yes, you:
Need a pet to make you more complete?
Maybe you can afford
A Fake Fakir Flake like me who looks like Jude Law,
Sounds like Richard Burton,
And silently romances you like Rudolph Valentino.
Come and stick what’s left of your mind,
In here,
In hair,
Hear her:
har, har, har…
A box of lies...
A voice, Mercer's,
With texture from an age you neither lived in nor dared in:
Al Jerry's, a TV actor,
Droning on in pre-selected tones.
The real thing, the men, the women, the children - their animals -
Made in the wild, wild desert,
In the green pulsing savannah,
On the open crusted sea;
Now too, washed, choked, and drained,
Too many spliced and diced mutations,
Iterating your image:
The thing that was my heart,
My Child, now its imitation.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 7:42 AM UTC
Stars in the sky exploding
Space and time folding
Bombs going off as the galaxy rips
Flashing lights fight to eclipse
Visions full of fluorescence
At the sacrifice of a solar systems essence
Shooting stars cry across the skies
Puncturing planets as they pulverize
Swirls of liberation
Celestial bodies melting in devastation
Swarms collect and deform
Exploding into storms as they transform
The aura of the aurora bleeding like mascara
As if the planet is crying at the end of an era
Watching as black holes fight over vibrant sights
Pulling it apart as it ignites
What a wonderful curse
To befall the universe
It's so beautiful its cryptic
God bless a life so apocalyptic
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 1:57 AM UTC
Nothing on me to light a fire
In this dark place
Only my instincts can save me
A shattered heart and torn soul
But I’m still holding on
There’s not much hope
But I hold faith
That one day I’ll make it free
From this place
I’ll do everything it takes
To get out of here alive
It’s not as easy as it sounds
The hardest things take time
And this is an endless war
Between a conscious mind
Of doubts and regrets
That fill an insomniacs head
All these monsters and me
Stuck here in purgatory
Hellhounds chase me down
For many monsters, I have slain
But there were only more that came
It’s just the monsters and me
Stuck here in purgatory
I’ve followed winding roads
Hid in dying woods
Snuck through the marsh
Covered my scents with mud
In this land, it’s always dark
Woods with leafless trees
It gets lonely here in purgatory
Can you hear the howls,
screams and cries
Deafening to the ears
It’ll make you tremble and shake
You can’t give into fear
Or you won’t make it alive out of here
I’ve been facing down monsters one at a time
Too many at once and they’ll eat you alive
It’s not easy to decide
Which one will be next
Just hope that you don’t mess up
And end up dead
I’m locked and loaded
With guns in hand
I’m prepared as I’ll ever be
I’m gonna make it out of here eventually
All these monsters and me
Stuck here in purgatory
Hellhounds chase me down
For many monsters, I have slain
But there were only more that came
It’s just the monsters and me
Stuck here in purgatory
I’ve followed winding roads
Hid in dying woods
Snuck through the marsh
Covered my scents with mud
In this land, it’s always dark
Woods with leafless trees
It gets lonely here in purgatory
The battles are far from over
Still on guard, ready to defend
Every corner I turn
It gives them a new chance
To catch me off guard
And rip me apart
I’ve got a lot of scars and marks
Barely scraped through
some of my past fights
At the last moments
I was able to turn the tides
How much longer
Can I keep myself alive
I guess the future holds the secrets
Just gotta keep moving
Until I find the exit light
And break free
of this apocalyptic dream
All these monsters and me
Stuck here in purgatory
Hellhounds chase me down
For many monsters, I have slain
But there were only more that came
It’s just the monsters and me
Stuck here in purgatory
I’ve followed winding roads
Hid in dying woods
Snuck through the marsh
Covered my scents with mud
In this land, it’s always dark
Woods with leafless trees
It gets lonely here in purgatory
I’m panting
Taking a deep breath
Bite wounds in my leg
Hellhounds found me out
All is lost now
Guns are out of reach
Might as well accept my fate
Just give in
Let the monsters win
Sometimes you can’t beat a sin
Unless you devote
your unconditional love to him
This was something I never did
So where I’m going is uncertain
Now it’s finally time to
Let the curtain close
Shut my eyes
This is it
I’m torn to bits
All these monsters and me
Stuck here in purgatory
Hellhounds chased me down
For many monsters, I have slain
But there were only more that came
It’s just the monsters and me
Stuck here in purgatory
I’ve followed winding roads
Hid in dying woods
Snuck through the marsh
Covered my scents with mud
In this land, it’s always dark
Woods with leafless trees
I died alone here in purgatory
(To be continued...)
©2018 Written By Benji James
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 9:32 AM UTC
The sky is dark,
not pitch black but a deep
and dangerous blue.
Dark enough to hide the stars
but not enough to hide the clouds
looming above me.
My heavy boots thud
against the sidewalk
and they thud harder when
I walk against the howling wind.
I feel it blowing through my sweater
and chilling my bones as
bare-bones tree branches wave
above my head.
The darkness wind and chill
all point to the end times,
where green grass will never return
and the sun will never again
show its bright face.
Nights like this
are a spiritual experience.
The air speaks to me
in ways the sunlight never can.
I feel the apocalypse every time it storms.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
You Sir, Are An Electrician!
**technocrat
— noun
a proponent, adherent, or supporter of technocracy.**
This city boy was expert at
Turning the lights on,
Unlocking the front door,
Putting new batteries in flashlights,
And calling the handyman to
"Please come upstairs"
When the degree of diving difficulty was a
Positive number.
Also,
Freezing the semi-permanently the DVR,
Triggering alarms,
Killing car batteries,
Making laptops question
Human sanity,
Tearing up when reading,
"Some Assembly Required!"
Raised in a city of experts,
He was unskilled in things electric,
Becoming apoplectic,
When a device had an
On/off switch that ignored him.
Somewhat famous he was,
For engaging the inanimate,
In a verbal dialectic,
Which included words highly phonetic,
But unsuitable for children's ears.
She was raised in rural pastures,
Corn fields used for hide n' go seek,
Riding goats after school
Just for fun,
Familiar with innards of
Deus ex machina, a/k/a
Minor engine repairs, and
Doing what he called,
Making reparations.
IOS7, heaven.
Cabling laptop to external devices,
Icing on the cake,
Dis and reassembling a German coffee maker,
Did not require calling an 800 number.
She never read an instruction sheet
Without pleasurable laughing at
Japanese English.
He was unashamed of his skilled
Unskilled characteristics,
For such is the way of the world
In the human kingdom,
Some of us two handed,
some of us, bi-standers.
But upon occasion,
He would bemoan his fate,
Decry his inability to survive
On a post-apocalyptic Earth,
Like the people on tv and movies.
Periodically he would grow morose,
Listless, at his inability to adapt to a
Point Oh world.
Uncomprehending
Icons and symbols whose meaning
Were wholly unintuitive,
He secretly ashamed of his need for
technological ******
She would sense his frustration,
Wipe away his inner condensation,
Climbing into his lap,
Whispering the following:
**You sir, are an electrician
of words, a verbal technocrat,**
Plumber of the depths where
Few fear to tread, explorer of the head,
Restorer of human paintings unmatched,
Without your ilk,
this world would be unbearable,
Your heart's warming silk
Comforts bodies and souls,
Speaking from experience personal.
Then, she flicked his
On/Off switch,
On.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 2:43 AM UTC
A wind blows like a wilderness of wolves
A vendetta, an apocalyptic vendetta
In its unpredictable, accidental quality
That swerves images of realization into tragedy
Neglecting all with swift intent upon a fallen fortress
In complected interests of caresses
Neither invited nor encouraged yet displayed
Displayed vividly with exclusive claim to that oppression
That howls by casting itself as a consequence of transgression
Upon a conventional expectation that claims a privileged sense
That persuades without an orator grotesquely amputated shapes
Extending extraordinary artifice as its priceless wealth
But who, yes who, has envy of so rich a nothing
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 12:23 PM UTC
Everybody’s going nowhere and I am far gone
I can’t even see the ocean the motion was all wrong
Just a sea of broken bottles and cigarette models
On the floor, so high I had to clean the sky
Never been an existentialist, cynic, or a pessimist
Just another body on the edge of metamorphosis
Clinging to a rope I hope will not snap
Like my neck if I hit the ground, oh crap!
I’m apocalyptic fresh and I can’t say why
If I do it’s a lie, see the needle in my eye?
Meditation, preparation, or a conscious legislation
Couldn't help the fact my words are often littered with abrasions
As if shock rock poetry could save me from my death
It could possibly enlighten but I wouldn't hold my breath
Now I’m frightened by the notion of a new world order
But anarchy is hip if you’re on this side of the border
I digress, what a mess if you know what I mean
But I've burned out quicker than gasoline…
Dec 14, 2012
Dec 14, 2012 at 10:11 PM UTC
The place was dangerous as hell; we had no business being there. It was a complex, composed of four immense structures, looming on the bluffs between Lake Michigan and a ghost town. I'm not sure which side of the fence brought forth more eeriness - the sight of four massive industrial skeletons was indeed an eerie one, but within the village that must endure it's haunting presence persists a dwindling heartbeat... and together they produced a heightened effect of slow decay - and that was what drew me in.
The place was magnificent day or night.
By day, we'd explore the groundworks while the light allowed us to admire the massive machinery, which by then had accumulated copious amounts of corrosion. All those dead giants, never to function again. In the spring time, beams of light would penetrate the ceiling above, caving in from years of stress sans stress tests. Even when the light was not shining through, one could make out where the beams have been because in their wake they left a trail of life. Up to that point in my life I thought that was the most beautiful scene I had ever seen - a thousand tons of old machinery, and a stubborn sunbeam poking through, incubating it's au natural industrialized chia pet.
By night, we would ascend to the rooftops of these four story horror stories and gaze up at the stars. Sometimes, when our ***** were feeling particularly swelled, we'd venture across the rooftops as if in some post-apocalyptic videogame. And sometimes when we were feeling a bit rebellious and artistic, we'd bring along some cans of spray paint and redecorate to our desire. Oh, and another reason the place reeked of death was surely due to it being a glue factory... wherein horses were killed in order to gain access to their foot-stuff. I was told by an unfortunate local that they'd bury the unwanted horse parts in big pits back behind the place... this man had told me that he fell into one while wandering around back there - nearly died trying to get out.
We knew the place was soon to be leveled, but we did not know when. Eventually I ended up moving out of state for a while, and alas, upon my return my childhood fascination was no more. shrugs... So it goes.
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 4:18 AM UTC
The Rain falls warm.
It's humid and the shirt
sticks to my w3tb@ck.
How much has fallen
into my collective bucket
during the pass hour
Of heavy monsoon rain?
I gulp chunks
to replace water
in this futile work cycle.
Adiabatic landscaping
in a stifling heat,
within some complex
feed-forward loop.
The cigarette burns
beneath a protective dome,
my cupped hand.
Particulates drift away into
the hazy mist, embedding
itself in breath,
and choking congested,
fluid-filled lungs.
I watch a tiny display
showing small spiking memes
feeding forward to what?
Will it be an apocalyptic
firing storm or a recognition
gestalt, inhibitory spikes
triggering attenuation.
I drink again the rain.
Can I supervise Win-Lose
games? Am I learning
some wrong algorithm
while drunk on heavy water,
in Futile cycles?
With my open hand
I take Virgil's lead
into our Gradient descent,
urging him on, afraid
our alpha steps are too
small, and the time too
short. There is a constant
fear of being trapped
in some eternal,
local minimal.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 11:34 AM UTC
Your touch closes my eyes
I let your words traumatise my mind
Your breath dampens my skin,
Provoking apocalyptic thoughts from within
The trickle of your touch
Is eating at my mind,
I keep your desires fed,
Thirst and hatred intertwined
Disrupting my insides
My lips escape discordant harmonies,
As in you I confide,
That the truth's foreign to my eyes
You remain my fixation
A sinister hallucination
Occurrences of formination
Are my self-rehabilitation
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
What flows through me,
flows through you...
They all call it
some ancient kind of voodoo.
When the cash is not enough,
you have to open new doors,
sit back with the dancing shadows,
as the feeling leaves your pores.
There is some news coming,
and it is not on CNN.
It is the new-coming,
with proper particles of zen.
Beginnings with no ends;
an apocalyptic change...
phenomenon to transcend;
we will never be the same.
The world is awake,
doing all that it can.
Do not make the mistake
of sleeping on the plan.
Different perspectives
under one light;
Different projections
of all that is right.
Walk with the wind,
and feel the depth of the river.
Also feel the cold --
There is no heat without the shiver.
Be calm like a giver.
Plant a vine and let it grow.
Persevere and do not whither...
There is more for you to know.
Take a path and sing a song;
run, walk, and fly.
This is your marathon.
Now, ask yourself why...
You have a purpose,
whether sun or fog,
it will be worth it,
for what you will fight along
the way. Which way?
If you do not know where to go,
hear what they say,
listen and then glow.
Evolution is occurring,
and anxious souls await,
but do not be in a hurry;
it is a door, not an escape.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 3:37 PM UTC
Beside his heavy-shouldered team
thirsty with drought and chilled with rain,
he weathered all the striding years
till they ran widdershins in his brain:
Till the long solitary tracks
etched deeper with each lurching load
were populous before his eyes,
and fiends and angels used his road.
All the long straining journey grew
a mad apocalyptic dream,
and he old Moses, and the slaves
his suffering and stubborn team.
Then in his evening camp beneath
the half-light pillars of the trees
he filled the steepled cone of night
with shouted prayers and prophecies.
While past the campfire's crimson ring
the star struck darkness cupped him round.
and centuries of cattle-bells
rang with their sweet uneasy sound.
Grass is across the wagon-tracks,
and plough strikes bone beneath the grass,
and vineyards cover all the slopes
where the dead teams were used to pass.
O vine, grow close upon that bone
and hold it with your rooted hand.
The prophet Moses feeds the grape,
and fruitful is the Promised Land.
4.6k
The eerie warmth that comes with the calm before.
The unnerving shade of black that only clouds can claim.
The heat that rises from tarmac on empty, open roads.
The scent of petrichor from the passing of earlier rain.
The first rumble starts somewhere unknown and distant.
The suggestion, an omen, of the beginning of an end.
The first drop of rainfall from another night of storms.
The thunder waking creatures from their beds.
The sounds increase slowly as time crawls and passes.
The night is young and roars keep rolling in.
The dark, as such, so early in the evening.
The set of warm goosebumps rising over skin.
The colour of the sunset behind their eyelids.
The blood of Gods is soaking up their breaths.
The momentary post apocalyptic sense of living.
The moody skies catalyse thoughts of untimely deaths.
The passing of the clouds seems dangerously fast.
The growls now thick and boisterous, vehement and clear .
The dust that whips past legs and arms and faces.
The shelter is no barrier for the splitting of an ear.
The tranquillity of standing up in air now still.
The peace of opportunity to look over horizons.
The aftermath of rain and wind and thunder.
The silence of one mind becoming enlightened.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 11:10 AM UTC
(the tics will talk 'til twelve o'clock)
When we make time,
When we listen:
The theistic preach deistic talk;
The atheistic preach pragmatic talk;
The agnostic preach proleptic talk;
The heretic preach shismatic talk;
The mystic preach prophetic talk.
(the mesianic and satanic never stop)
When we have time;
Then we listen:
The optimistic teach hypnotic talk;
The pessimistic teach sarcastic talk;
The altruistic teach empathetic talk;
The idealistic teach synergistic talk;
The pacifistic teach semantic talk;
The body politic teach charismatic talk;
The technocratic teach robotic talk;
The romantic teach poetic talk;
The critic teach cathartic talk;
The moralistic teach dualistic talk;
The ascetic teach platonic talk.
(the artist would rather not talk)
When we find time,
Do we listen:
The lunatic speak quizzotic talk;
The neurotic speak pathetic talk;
The chauvanistic speak monistic talk;
The nihilistic speak ballistic talk;
The hedonist speak narcissistic talk;
The futuristic speak galactic talk.
(the minimalist hasn't the time to talk)
Just don't.
Look.
Some tic reset the clock.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 12:15 AM UTC
I claw out of the grave like the phoenix
And for my 15 minute lifetime
I burn like the sun, the gas lamp, California, the Holocaust
Before fizzling out again
I live to die
I awaken on the production line
I breathe in the ash pouring from the apocalyptic clouds
Disappointed, I turn to my grey sarcophagus
The faceless, factory-made, invisible-as-Kether generation
Buried in the grocery store pyramid
Like Goya's dog, I peer blindly, so tiny
Upwards, into the infinite nothing that awaits
The afterlife, the void, Abraham's *****
Death, limbo, desolation row
The nihilistic emptiness from which I rise
Mar 21, 2019
Mar 21, 2019 at 2:45 PM UTC
They said that since I play certain games,
I'm worth a broken shoe.
They judge people for being fans!
Think about that. Would you?
My heart's pounding like a drum,
But my blood is running cold.
I came here with a question;
The answer I must be told.
The air is filled with music
As I slash to the beat.
Getting past just one zone
Has got to be a feat!
Searching for my long-lost Dad
I need to find the answer...
First, I must groove through the Crypt
Of the NecroDancer!
I play my games; all I want
Is to have some fun.
There are seven deadly sins,
And my passion isn't one.
My annoying childhood friend
Sees me walking down the street.
She overslept again!
Now we finally meet.
She told me I should join
A club after school.
I don't really want to,
But if it makes her happy, it's cool.
Turns out, it's full of adorable girls!
My poem may be a stub...
But it's all worth it for
Doki Doki Literature Club.
I have tried other hobbies.
How many I liked: none!
There are twelve horrid curses,
And adventuring isn't one.
I may just be one small Protector,
But now that we've been attacked,
My ship was broken, destroyed!
I had barely time to react.
Stranded in space, thought I was lost.
So I gave myself the quest
To beam down, fix the ship,
And save all the rest.
Now the universe is in danger,
Six artifacts must be found.
I explore space to find them all.
I am truly Starbound!
They say it's better for me
To get my own things done.
There are 4 apocalyptic horsemen
And my high score isn't one.
I tripped and fell into a hole
Forever going down...
A small yellow flower
Welcomed me Underground.
Along the way, I met these beasts,
Heard tales of those above.
Learned of their search for humankind
With SOULs full of LOVE.
Long ago, we lived in peace
With monsters, though that failed.
It's up to me to free them
In my little UNDERTALE.
You may think that all these games
Would weigh on me a ton.
I have 99 problems,
And gaming isn't one.
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 4:26 PM UTC
Nothing on me to light a fire
In this dark place
Only my instincts can save me
A shattered heart and torn soul
But I’m still holding on
There’s not much hope
But I hold faith
That one day I’ll make it free
From this place
I’ll do everything it takes
To get out of here alive
It’s not as easy as it sounds
The hardest things take time
And this is an endless war
Between a conscious mind
Of doubts and regrets
That fill an insomniacs head
All these monsters and me
Stuck here in purgatory
Hellhounds chase me down
For many monsters, I have slain
But there were only more that came
It’s just the monsters and me
Stuck here in purgatory
I’ve followed winding roads
Hid in dying woods
Snuck through the marsh
Covered my scents with mud
In this land, it’s always dark
Woods with leafless trees
It gets lonely here in purgatory
Can you hear the howls,
screams and cries
Deafening to the ears
It’ll make you tremble and shake
You can’t give into fear
Or you won’t make it alive out of here
I’ve been facing down monsters one at a time
Too many at once and they’ll eat you alive
It’s not easy to decide
Which one will be next
Just hope that you don’t mess up
And end up dead
I’m locked and loaded
With guns in hand
I’m prepared as I’ll ever be
I’m gonna make it out of here eventually
All these monsters and me
Stuck here in purgatory
Hellhounds chase me down
For many monsters, I have slain
But there were only more that came
It’s just the monsters and me
Stuck here in purgatory
I’ve followed winding roads
Hid in dying woods
Snuck through the marsh
Covered my scents with mud
In this land, it’s always dark
Woods with leafless trees
It gets lonely here in purgatory
The battles are from over
Still on guard, ready to defend
Every corner I turn
It gives them a new chance
To catch me off guard
And rip me apart
I’ve got a lot of scars and marks
Barely scraped through
some of my past fights
At the last moments
I was able to turn the tides
How much longer
Can I keep myself alive
I guess the future holds the secrets
Just gotta keep moving
Until I find the exit light
And break free
of this apocalyptic dream
All these monsters and me
Stuck here in purgatory
Hellhounds chase me down
For many monsters, I have slain
But there were only more that came
It’s just the monsters and me
Stuck here in purgatory
I’ve followed winding roads
Hid in dying woods
Snuck through the marsh
Covered my scents with mud
In this land, it’s always dark
Woods with leafless trees
It gets lonely here in purgatory
I’m panting
Taking a deep breath
Bite wounds in my leg
Hellhounds found me out
All is lost now
Guns are out of reach
Might as well accept my fate
Just give in
Let the monsters win
Sometimes you can’t beat a sin
Unless you devote
your unconditional love to him
This was something I never did
So where I’m going is uncertain
Now it’s finally time to
Let the curtain close
Shut my eyes
This is it
I’m torn to bits
All these monsters and me
Stuck here in purgatory
Hellhounds chased me down
For many monsters, I have slain
But there were only more that came
It’s just the monsters and me
Stuck here in purgatory
I’ve followed winding roads
Hid in dying woods
Snuck through the marsh
Covered my scents with mud
In this land, it’s always dark
Woods with leafless trees
I died alone here in purgatory
(To be continued...)
©2019 Written By Benji James
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 7:30 AM UTC
Running down that Ecstasy Highway
as fast as my little legs can carry me
I'm blind as a bat with ear plugs
But we were both
searching through this night time
skyway
reaching out to touch some one
and be touched.
All the guide books said this is the way,
turn right at Desire
turn left at Oblivion
and head on down
to the
neon lights, you can't miss it
as long as you are riding that
Ecstasy Highway.
I was told
some people find it at the end of a needle
others wait for the drop of the cards
and there are those who throw themselves
off that mountain side cliff looking for the winds to ride.
Some find it laying with you.
I've gone somewhere else I can't describe
made a wrong turn
thought it was a Transcendental highway
maybe
because I've been up and down,
made wrong turns right and left
made a wrong turn
at the corner of Sanctuary and Bliss.
I'd ask directions but there is not a soul around,
smacking my GPS
lost beyond words
with nothing familiar
in
neighborhoods looming
stark cracked out buildings
and
broken street lights
people with apocalyptic eyes
even the cops won't come down here any more
and the only help I've found
the only guide I have
is delusional and lost
though occasionally profound
dressed in piercings and tatoos
and she keeps yelling at me
something about going home to you.
Too tired to go on.
Had lost that bat back at the beginning of dawn
finally sat down at the coffee shop
at the corner
of
Love and Compassion
ordered up some hot self-acceptance
took a breath and looked around
still looking for the way back home.
I know it's just down the road
a stop light or so
maybe there's an on ramp
or a sign pointing out the way
to get back
on that
Ecstasy Highway.
I stopped at a gas station
talked to a guy
who told me lefts and rights
but my eye lids fluttered
fell asleep
right when he told me what I wanted to know
and when I opened my eyes
the station was closed
not a soul around
and I was running down
unfamiliar roads.
So if you hear a small lost voice
in the night
that's probably the sound of me
standing at the crossroads
of
Self-pity and Remorse
knocking at the Post Office
trying to mail these words
at a place that been long closed.
Please give me a hug or two
and send me on my way
if you give me any advice
I probably won't hear a word you say.
You see
I'm trying to make my way
back again
to that
Ecstasy Highway.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 9:50 AM UTC
i do not speak your name
i cannot even whisper it
instead, i hide it in my dreams
under my sheets
beneath a sky that sees all
but does not burn my skin
do you ever wonder
what the moon is thinking?
does she gaze down solemnly and see
a fading opus
or a symphony simply tightening its strings
for the final act?
do you think it makes her sad
to see the greens replaced
with soot and plaster
the seas rising to meet her
with an apocalyptic kiss?
the falling tide
the slow recession
reminds me that
she keeps our secrets
but i think it breaks her heart
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 11:58 AM UTC
***** girl. godly beast.
I couldn't be
one of those
beautifuls
if I pleased.
tribal bones stained
with European empirico
I am black death disease,
just human trash
that learned to read
& I believe bootleg genius
is being
massively reproduced
more cheaply & as we speak
is being weakened
so as to be spoon fed
to the cool kids.
yknow they
couldn't do it
by themselves.
never sweated.
laughed instead
yes
I seen em
inchin to the edge
but
I didn't
do anything about it.
I kinda feel guilty
cause I didn't
do anything about it.
It's just a ****** up
awful sound,
a whole generation
hitting the ground
at once.
Man. it really
puts things in perspective.
kinda makes you wonder
what's coming next.
medicine medley
ineffectual
malady infectious
witch hunt etiquette,
I think in pictures
disney depictions of
apocalyptic ****
yet to be decrypted
I rip myself to pieces
every day.
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 5:36 AM UTC
an ahsen'd sea
falling down the ceiling like rain
in cold I can't sleep
and tears have been bled again
i wish I could see
all the faces that change
pick one for me
so I can hide my pain
hope i can still feel
if ever things go back the same
these wounds must heal
or I will drive myself insane
in the moments that were killed
by the memories I once had
an abyss slowly and calmly filled
until even the sunlight growed black
i see an Apocalyptic
tale weaved in my dreams
a cryptic voice
that now and then screams
while I sit so naked
in the dark so alone
all this time I've waited
for someone to find home
ashes falling on my skin
hiding me somewhere in this room
as when the lights go dim
you can almost see my gloom
you can touch them scars
and you can find it in my eyes
in there you'll find no heart
it has been eaten by them lies
I have a pen to speak my curse
but no one here to hear my song
for all that I say in my every word
so much silence has come and gone
I must not let myself disappear
in the hollow of my own cage
be consumed by my fear
and burnt alive by my rage
but these chains won't leave
until I become who I have to be
all these other faces I keep
someday I've to set them free
chanting those names
I think I'm finally falling asleep
I'm not here to play no games
a point end can cut deep
i will spill this rain on them
and feed them the burnt embers
only one way this will end
'cause the north always remembers
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC