GodsWe stand perched over the street,Like gods observing our Creations.Bustling about like Ants.The smoke from our cigarettes whips around us, encircling anything it encounters.Rain stings our faces in the cold air.We pass the blood streaked lamp.Stop and Observe.
Untitled number oneI sit staring into blackness.Screaming into silence.Cursing into nothing.Falling into dreams.The air is palpable.My love no longer tangible.I cant think for myselfAs of now.
My Death SigilConfident in My own power,A signature, a flower,Rendering the flames of innocence passed,My death sigil, like a silent scream in the night, stares back from the paper.Magic in its own right (rite).The signature puts up a fight,For freedom and individuality,Curling letters forming a beautiful reality,Only deserving of a mundane name.Not one ever being the same.The signature following til the day we die,Our own Death Sigil.
Nightmares and Broken GlassWatching a cloud roll across the sky.Seeing a drop of blood form and fall to its death.Realizing your own mortality is laughing in your face.Coercing the pain to leave your nerves.More convincing, though.Glass cutting the flesh, gutting more so.Forget-me-nots turn to Nazis, causing you pain, no amount of painkillers or medication can fix.Ghosts haunt your memory, of days passed, regretful actions decay.We orbit time, unable to manipulate its hands.Never truly turning back the clock.This waking Nightmare lost
My head still hurts.
RamblinsMy mind feels hazy, like two morphine and a cup of coffee.My waking world and dream world lapsing for the fifth time in my life.My body moving on its own accord, leaving me helpless to its whereabouts.How did I get here?Forming words in the string of a sentence.The body doesnt need a soul to exist.Its purely mechanical.Ones devotions, ones values, ones talents
Given meaning only by imagination.Why are humans given the ability to determine right or wrong?Do animals live by values or conscience?Theres definitely a flicker of intelligence behind those innocent yellow eyes.Adaptation is intelligence.Perhaps this is why humans are able to determine right or wrong responses, given that humans adapt to any situation, accordingly.Just as natures law would have it, the strongest survive.Survival of the fittest doesnt pertain to Brawn only. One must be able to calculate a reaction to the sligh
Bloodlust Rendered HelplessCorpses line a corridor leading to Nowhere.The smell of dried blood and gore strong.Only the imagination can take us as far as the River Styx, the boatman will take you the rest of the way.The headache behind my eyes feels as if it were an impulse demon trying to unleash itself upon unknowing victims.Harder it is to keep under control.Must I feed this bloodlust?Can it ever be corrected?Would I want it corrected?I welcome the feeling in almost the way one welcomes a louse into the home.Heavy with an axe, realizing the tendencies after a hardcore night of drinking.Pouring ones soul out to paper that always, yet never listens.Artisans worldwide try to capture this feeling commercially, never realizing that the majority of human beings would never admit to a blood thirst never quenched.Dry as a bone, not wondering where these bizarre phrases come from, the blood thirst eats us eventually.
The Mind, is an InfectionThe tonic water, I drink straight, tastes bittersweet, in a literal sense, the Quinine, leaving an odd aftertaste, metallic of sorts.Feeling Groovy or The 59th Street Bridge Song comes to me over a crackling speaker. Vinyl sounds so much more
Vintage; Its unbroken sound giving me muse to my thoughts. Forgetting the woes of my day. Forgotten thoughts, lost dreams, broken hearts
Never leaving my side.Garbled ideas eating away my mind like an infection. Lights dance across my memory, giving flashback a new meaning. They forge a new edge and against the grain they cut, leaving no marks, only the pain of the wound. Smoke rising upward, toward a heaven I dont believe in. The silence, impending upon my ears, is powerful and void. Last hope for no one, never again.Last chance salvation before we go.Eats away my mind, like an infection.
The American DreamThe feeling that people are hideous isnt fed by the stereotypes. Its all true. They snatch that one link of reality away from you, just when you think youve got youre hands on it. They hold it in front of you until they get what they want. Holding your sanity over you like a carrot to a horse.It doesnt exist. You work towards an imaginary perception of how life is supposed to be.Life? Picture perfect? Bullshit.