Stuck in a whole
Filled with waters that are made of
Fear, sadness, & infinite desolation

I have no fight
I'm giving up on myself
& everything is supporting my forfeit

When she leaves I miss her
But after she's gone for a day or 2 maybe 3 I feel empty again
I can't let myself get distracted from what is good and revert to my hurt as always

I feel comfortable in this hurting desolating state I revert to on days like these

I'm killing myself, am I a *******? She makes me happy, so I torture myself because she won't do it?

To crave,
Wails of agony, voices soaked in terror?
Call after call, message after message.
Care, love, sympathy?
Succor, surveillance, support?
Tear after tear, hands shaking and grasping?
Pity, solace, warmth?

To receive,
Levigating guilt, being disintegrated.
Evanescensing from reality.
Blood clotting and drying.
Those who are paid to give care,
Who seem as though sympathy;
Hadn't glazed over their eyes in decades.
A room so cold and sterile,
That not even the warmth of my breath
Could stop my bones from shivering under my skin.
Desolating abandonment,
Hums of fluorescent lights,
In chorus with sobs of despondency

It isn't what I wanted.
But it is what I deserved.

Oh,
how your sapphire eyes and seducing laughter
softly, yet frightening
sends paths of associations trough my veins

timeless nights,
burning sunsets,
carefree roars of laughter

Insignificant parts of the past
So tell me,
how come I desperately hold them tight

in my desolating hands

You rob me of all my energy,
desolating my little sanctity
You rob me of all my energy,
leaving me with nothing but misery

I foolishly built a home in your soul
because I mistook comfort for security
I painstakingly withstood the chagrin
yet you repay me with your folly

Your mouth is a gun
The words you spew fly like bullets
in no time they crush my bones tidy
They exterminate every bit of life in my body

At the end of it all
I am left with nothing
I feel naked
like a mole rat in spring

But I clothe myself with
assurance and confidence
everyday I mask myself with false mirth
I pretend
I pretend
I pretend
and will continue to
until the very end

Can you hear the sound of the indomitable wind?
It breathes in great heaves
through these sun-beaten leaves,
so boisterous it could flow through ears to the mind.
The eucalyptus’ standing in disciplined lines
seem disturbed by it,
and by the sun that’s lit,
illuminating their aging signs.
From some stark desert some miles to the south
bundles of dry wind roll
up, over, and down this grassy knoll
that unknowingly beleaguers the skin of both
infants playing with their blocks on the lawn
and an older patron
visiting from Dayton
who naturally rises some hours before dawn.
The wind can easily uproot and tear the land apart;
it can dishevel
a garden neat and level,
desolating work to which the retiree gives their heart.
The lascivious sound of the southern wind resonates
past the final palm of the mind
where Wallace Stevens’ bird went blind,
lying low in the recesses of cranial plates.
I say that that sound is no sound at all,
just a loosing slip
of the cerebral lip
attached to a thing abstractly beautiful.
But it sings its song all the same.
Perhaps it is physical.
It’s certainly divisible.
It pierces the sky like a transparent flame.

Your shingled roof keeps the sunbeams out of your head
Greasy grime-stained glass windows tint your cracked worldview
Spite dripping from the meaningless words you said
Time and again it rears its ugly head anew
Tiles misaligned by the slow shaking of years past
Rusted doorknob yielding to splintered wooden door
Vestiges of reason leave your mind all too fast
Eaten by insecurities, razed to the floor
Graffiti and dirt lie intertwined on your walls
Fractured wallpaper peels away in strips and flakes
The answering machine inside holds no more calls
The dusty mould on the tabletop swells and cakes
Broken pipes and tangled wires climb up your side
As varicose veins snaking up your wizened spine
All your flaws leak out and there's nowhere left to hide
Groaning in the wind, your voice hissing "They're not mine!"
Your boarded-up middlesection is always torn
Wind-ripped by desolating gusts of delusion
The flight of fancy, the gloried facade you've worn
Hangs from bitten brick, a decomposed illusion

Oh, Tangerine do stop by,
Help me **** the fleeting time.
The bitterness keeps peeling,
Bleaching me in every bite.
My dented undulating heart,
Bleeds the very orange.

My heart was once young as well,
It soared over life's boughs.
It dazzled over a grassy hill,
Brighter than the midday sun.
Even with the obscuring clouds,
Which kept the blowing winds to shun.

As the evening did spring,
The hill began to swallow.
My heart seemed to color,
Fondling orange with yellow.
Climbing up, this mellow girl.
Had her eyes on my heart.

As she began walking closer,
The rattling wind left it shaking.
But as the breeze blew away,
My heart’s rind felt her touch.
While her eyes kept staring,
Picked me out into her boughs.

The rattling wind did stop,
And I felt I was still shaking.
Her bright shining eyes though,
Seemed too piercing to be true.
In a seasoned moment,
Her grip began to tighten.

Comfort felt crushing now,
And the shaking continued on.
My heart to her open mouth,
As she took my heart, it feared.
But she stopped only to smile,
And threw it down the grassy hill.

And I say to my Tangerine,
My beating heart, come back.
Desolating me on the hill,
The bitterness hurts even more.
Time has fleeted the hourglass.
So my Tangerine do return.

Traipsing around your own obscurities
A little triangle; you're own trinity
I put a blind eye up to your window of equivocalness
I wasn't positive if you were that in to me

It's not just little crush for you, it's an obsession
Engrossed, hiding behind your false complexion
Everything was familiarly desolating
Who would've known you were enticed by your own progression

Stuck in your game of disturbing affliction
Years and years of built up absorbed addiction
Framed or ashamed of your heartless indulgence
The lies you hide underneath your table, caught fire from excessive friction

This strange kind of numb has chased away the desolating pain
there seems nothing in the part where love grows
not in the heart or mind or soul
Is this what death feels like?
Every shred of decency you stole in that **** weak moment of betrayal
you shook the hand of the beast that gave the burden
the thief of my dignity
it was an inncent action between men who respect each other
you had had no right to placee all my shreds of respectably in his palms
to anialate me without provacation
to give me up to avoid confronting the truth
you let my pride die a silent death
the humiliation.
the state of shock
and constant scraping up my self off the floor
it was because you found it easier to forgive, than fight for me
so I died A million painful deaths in that moment
like the love that swore it would die a thousand more
it vanished emphasising the nothing that I am
and you didn't even blink an eye.

My rustic heart, desolating my carcass,

Dissolution of Hatred, denying my progress,

Laughter is slaughter, sadness is one ***** of a daughter,

Creation is a lie, the falsehoods of trust falter,

The breach of truth and likeliness,

Turn my insides and cause wretchedness,

I am everything in this world that is wrong

My Rome is burning while I fiddle my song

To my Heart that is an abattoir,

of memories and weak emotion thus far,

I **** you to the bowels of the abyss,

I will be rid of you so I can be rid of this.

Lines on each side
Pressed between your lips and cheeks
Oh, how they take me to the skies when you smile

As the cloistered horses appear to greet me with your heart's sensations
Roughed, a rose snake reels in vibrations
That mention of your love

Windows glimmer
Under the light of the sun
Oh, how I wish to gaze upon them day and night

As those hazel wards keep their watch on the dull of vision presented
Dead, without the beating and twinkling
That you can see in mine

I, insecure—
in your apparition's stead
Oh, how I dread your departure from my tight embrace

As the songs of the cardinal that sings within my beaten chest sharpen
Piercing, desolating the wrought plate mail
In fear of your inevitable absence forever

That day, a day like any other,
the tuxedo cat pads down the stairs while
a refrigerator hums in the kitchen, and outside,
leaves sway and drift to the ground into the melting of
dead, brightly lifeless colors.
But watch as her glass, dropping from her hand, bounces
to the floor, as the tea kettle screams and her hands blanket her mouth,
and notice as she’s unable to cry out. Now watch—watch as the TV man lifts his paper
with shaking hands, voice trembling as he introduces live footage of
crumbling and desolating powder flying through the air like a pound of
grey flour being thrown at the floor, exploding in every possible direction.
Watch as people scream, flee to anywhere, yet unable—unable to flee to
what we had before this,
one we were all begging for as
we watched her towers
desolate to the ground of New York City.
And outside, there were too many legs to find my father.
I saw the tears, a nervous and unsettling aura hanging over their heads,
how could anyone, any child, take in this fear
and understand it?
Once, when I was little, I heard a quote—I don’t remember
where from anymore. But it followed me, rang through
my ears, drumming with a hard, undeviating hammer,
at that moment. “We’re all as separate as fingers,
yet we are always from the same hand.”
Why were we all separated? Why—
why was this happening? I’ll never forget when I looked
and noticed the crossing guard give up on direction,
shoulders wilting as he turned his back and walked away.
Then there was Dad, and amongst the panic, the one—the
only one I knew would tell me, who would soothe me, who
would make sense of all the corruption, he grabbed my wrist,
pulled me into his arms and cradled me as if I was indeed the infant
I felt like in those short minutes. He walked home, not saying a word,
holding me in his arms.
I knew not to say anything. I knew at that moment, that
even if I asked, he would not answer. I saw him helpless,
the armor and strength ripped from him for the first time.
I decided to try anyway
and as I looked up and opened my mouth, his tears, silent
and unnoticed by me, splattered onto my face,
and I knew I would have no answer speak louder
than of that.

What will be the death of me?

Will it be the paralyzing memories of my past,

Maybe it will be the time I gave my heart away,

Or could it be from my self desolating mind?

I fight to survive this thunderous cry,
Time and space harmonize, 

My eyes are sealed together from the clouds,

Knives in the back of my mind pierce like glaring eyes…

The morning light used to illuminate my life,

I used to call this place home,
Questions about true beauty haunt me,

Is life truly this excellent, is it really so desirable?

If my body was put into a box,

And the night sky wrapped me into eternity,

Would the light of day try to creep in,

Would the light try to eradicate this thunderstorm of a life I live?

I have dreams,

I have visions of men and women,
Searching for their dying day,

Looking for the distant light..

Will their ashes blow into the wind like mine?

How will the respects be paid?

I’m still searching for the night,

They still search for a barricaded light.

Harmonicas playing softly in the dusk,

My dear friend sits alone,

He lives his life on a throne of dust,
Will he be there when I’m all alone?

This night,

It wraps around me like a shield,

Do I know what there is out there where I can go?

Will I remember your voice, or your silencing eyes?

These are the daunting questions I ask myself,

I call into the night sky,

Replies are few,

The ghost of you always knew.

I’m thirty, within myself, owning myself, to match my inner world with reality, you’re more middle age & still trying figure yourself out, a turn off, smack yourself now. To my Muse, I see dead people with talking heads. Forever youthful I am. Brought myself from the dead, it’s okay, I see & hear, like the butterflies, I bleed poetry & it’s amatuer now. Peeked inside your soul & feel my cripplying hands. Never be free, blinded within yourself, accept, life is over & not even forty. Word to William Blake, this is too easy & earth still has no Queen. Dynasty in the arts, forever lost humanity in repetitive behavior. In double mysticism I keep on display, you’re always in regret, avoiding to live, keep your heart close cause no-one cares. I’m writing these lines, your trapped in self-delusion. Never reaching platinum status. I’m packing secrets for blackmail, bending over backwards, even if you’re snapping your spine. If Baphomet wills it, your soul is dying now before death. I’m feeling no pressure, flinch, street wars, I’ll be snatching your necklace, pawning all your jewelry. Used, dried, let your thoughts be in riot within your mind, suffer now, burden to everyone you meet. Clutching your heart, everything you want depends on my will, time moves forward, perpetual stuck, hex to move back in each second you draw in a breathe. Mundane, cause there is nothing of substance behind closed doors, full of fashion to use as veiled, everyday person & common like the wind. That was a boy you’re willing to give a heart to, opening soul, where should of been a muse. A nightmare to white parents, being a house that allows for no swearing, a problem child in adulthood, talking back, zen you’ll never had. Your house is broken home & never sing for the moment, no one hears & if they do, it’s in hope to get into your pants, cause it’s too easy. I guess the world is a *******. Talking of hate, instead of being great. Never to rebirth. People turn on you, because you exist. The world is on the edge of your eyesight, never seen. Your full of **** too Jones, that was a ***** who hit you. Moments of recapturing fever isn’t life. Moment to moment, mood to mood, swinging thoughts isn't the pendulum. Hopeless. In truth there is always bitterness, harsh terrain, rough landscape, scars & teardrops. Deprived you’ll ever be. Dried between the legs, never to bear. A desolating story, best chances to sell yourself to a novel. No sad poetry. Weeping in the twilight, realization that people notice & never to lend a helping hand. Still unsigned, having a rough time, sitting the porch, busting random lines, let us commit to Baphomet, maybe a sacrifice can ease your distraught soul. Carnal ripening, can’t relax on this grind, I love my natural highs & I’m popping like Angels in the light of the sky. Guns hidden, in war I don’t waste time, I have rebirth under my comment, so I’m super-rich, it’s a preface to Holiness. You’ll be next to dead poets in the genre of the unknowns, it’s destiny, accept it now. Afixed to failure. Throwing this shade is all too easy. Hoping to finishing. Coming up, if you’re willing to write, you were respected, might win some smiles, or some frown, you’ll always be unsigned with no hype, just a *******. I let you slide for so long & all I feel now is nothing but hate, **** your value of any kind as person, Ray’s got a case of Ak’s, with no safety on & no acid for dutch courage to run up n your lawn with mad guns drawn. You missed your boat. Hermit in modern Australia, just a loner in self induced isolation, I never fold or holdback now, look at your track record, never to learn, just a slave to life’s allusions & depressed because the allusions are yours of tragic made hands labour. I can't believe I’ve stepped to your level to pull this & make it public. I ain’t going to eat, ain’t going to sleep or close my eyes to blink, until a heart combines with a soul, than to the mind & explode harder than a supernova rushing to a planet. Pollen death. Times up, close your eyes. I was too much for you, because you’re too little for me. I wouldn’t hold my breath, I’m not lying, I don’t even have to ask, I already know. An entire existence is beyond blasphemy & writing this is not even amateur, let personal demons smoke you like rolled ****. You’re just too old. A symphony for hell is your very cries. Who has the last laugh is the Outlaw Mystics, using your life as a toy for their experimentals. I’m a slave to my own will. You’re a slave to fantasy. This ends when flesh is being burnt on the cross.

https://www.amazon.com.au/Killing-Philosophy-Reflection-Darcy-Prince-ebook/dp/B07F9QVCW4/ref=sr13?ie=UTF8&qid=1538122712&sr=8-3&keywords=darcy+prince

you've been on my mind
with every scratch of lead on paper and ink and ink
cut print moving on
you stay fresh in my brain like a stamp on a postcard
guts and guts and more

yet you learned to fade like they all do
you learned i can only need you for so long and that thought is just desolating
i don't crave your sympathy half as much as i'd like to think

but the nights are getting really ******* cold
and i'm empty the more i push; it's still what i wanted
and what i'm working towards
and what i'm not ever giving up on
no pills will be too tempting to me despite how much i hate myself

there's a fire cracking in my bones
and your smile's not growing

but i'm worthless
and i often wonder if you know the feeling

Magnificent
To be infinite
In the complexity
Of all that surrounds us

Desolating
I'm just existing
In the complexity
Of questioning everything

Have you ever heard the sound of nothing?
A desolating sunbeam hitting the ground
Each individual on the hunt for something
Yet, nothing can be found.

The trees feel lonely,
They meet the sky for a chat.
They beg for money,
But the sky gets nothing back.

Together, the world turns grey.
The smell of death starts to cover the streets
While they all stand and wait
We just stay inside and try to fall asleep.

They used wake up when the sun rose.
High and bright in the sky, the souls of Syria.
Kids gone to school, half asleep babies doze
Off, everyone happy, everyone loved.
Everyday of life, earlier, like a feast, celebrated.
Harmless, innocent and unoffending souls.
They are woken up now by bombs showering
From the sky, straight upon their houses.
Bombs filled in with toxic, fatal gases.
Killing those harmless children and babies
Of months old; who are yet to talk, yet to walk.
Desolating parents who dreamt a new world
With their babies, souls who know not a sin.
Bringing a war to people in name of rehab.

Theocracy
desolating impulse
vicious condescension
overall
a fascinating way to eliminate progression

sesame seeds with black olives
a treat of knight and scepter
colossal European flesh-eating stencil graph today
another workforce tarnished stellar whirlwind yesterday
its all over when the money is gone

if you would, perhaps
lend us this
if you wouldn't, bother for me
pessimism determines mortality
If willpower is guided and mine is planted
step around the crease in your cesspool

carnality and starry whisper essentially declined you
you would rather have it a token of malice
than a decree of submission
cry out
cry out to this...

pointed and weighty argument
bothered and wounded like a fidgeting honey-***
slowly evolving mining emotion and festering mass
my deity would see it fall apart on itself one more instance
before retaliating against nature's canonical *******
another ember everlasting
consumption and negligent belt
worn and untorn
born and unfed
dunked in lies