dark days

shell-shocked due to the arms wrapped, tightly, around me

what's there to say that can relinguish the down verse

a counter-spell cast to the nine winds

no longer an invitation to come along

a ratchet little thing, both wild and wrapped, tighly, around me

we are bound to meet again, intertwined akin to the fate of the drunk

and the canines that fell with age

silent like the cowards blessed with space at the funeral

dancing with boredom within

heart still beating not meaning much should you take a false step

no matter what you do, you cannot outrun neither karma or a bullet to the frame

the beaty of the truth is the freeflowing form

flexible enough to tolerate arms, wrapped around her ever so tighly

squish at a panic, scratching till ruby blood dances alive, majestic

magical fumes from underneath can only dumb you down momentarily

so I plea, I beg

hold me tight and keep your arms wrapped, tighly so fucking tight, around me

even if it's a dream

before my mind goes discards possibility

and refusing to see reason

chooses to awake to a new, darker day

where fire is both beacon and destroyer

and humanity is still filthy and unkind.

the frame in the wall

looks odd to me

it exists in tempus perpetum

like a comatose man wrapped in a blanket

hearing static on a broken radio, ocean by the window

a welcome rephree

betrayed by time, lovers and memory

happier in a dream where slowly I went nowhere in particular

under the vigil of an angel with a blurry face and a beatiful chant

the day I told about my imaginary friends was the day I put them to sleep

no substance can fill the void ripped on that forsaken day

echoes still like a vine tangled in the jungle tripping the arrogant explorer

now captive: a self-made victim

called the sirens myself, ready to start a fight

contrary to reason, wishing for pain

not satisfied by air alone, dreading setting the feet off the ground

hammer to stone, sculping a storm in order to kill the vibe

that somewhere along the reins has been swapped off my bleeding hands

under the guise of a lesson the seasons have come and gone

the architect of my own way out

not the strongest swimmer;

as a child I stood proud of my ever growing sheel collection

loving to play pretend, wishing for naught but laughter

as a moody angy teen the dark that terrified me nurtured me in silence and concealed me as it dragged me under the cloak of violence,

it was the knowing that my blood was the sea upon the ear drums that made me shatter my treasure and pride?

or a moment of lunacy, would I do it again?

was I hit the wall, swinging free once again

I meet a familiar pain and smile again confortable

understanding that everything ends but it does not need rushing

or a helping hand akin to the child that tangled on its own legs bruises the knee

firstly an uplift followed by cheering later on

one day that too will end.

the stars light up the room

how does something worthwhile ever come to be

is it accidental, coincidental perhaps?

a token of triumph about to invalidate the madness of turning back

face to face with the splendor of the stars as they rejuvenate my craving for life

is it the answer of a calling or peeking at the moon enough

to mirror hopes and dreams of yesteryear where the foolish youth burn away

as they should that vivacious great thing we now envy as rotten, yes rotten

we covet and sneer, attempt to plunder and dare I confess sabotage

not the key to Eden this stroke of a match

but alas neither wisdom nor experience make water crystal clear

is seems out of our control and quite frankly at times even reach

for those that locked themselves, voluntary, in a room ready for the pyre

are awaking to a self-committed hell

the fever strips me of all reason

the new founded pantheon cybertronic, makes me spit blood

it is not convenience we fought for nor earned

there is no lounge in what is being lost

the tragedy being confused with sexy vampire teeth

as it installs, sinks in and shifts senselessly

no status quo nor quip can reset

the level we have ascended to

still so far away from the stars:

at first, a simple life

when laziness proved too toxic a good one would suffice

when that did not materialize as per chance upon my bosom

a life of my choosing and within my grasp would have to do

perhaps Youtube or googling it will guide me away from this crowd

strangers new to me explaining me something I shan't follow

nor get It right.

a starving man eats sins (at the beckon of despair bellow the fire)

by the bottom where the darkness runs rampant

the craves taste like a friend, the same

that shovels the grave, amends

a loose knot comes undone by neglect

just the same as the wind unties and the led hand dooms us both

when patient and resolve have simply had quite enough and giving up

condeem us

to memory.

on a lane, not the fast sort

where souls wander

and music is both disconforting and restless

on a past where the button that says delete does not exist

a blow out of sorts is localized, an open secret

to be taken out in those opressed

in this haunted house I feel no love

not that I tried hard to earn something I felt was freely given and deserved

the trickery most of all was to feel forced to leave

all you had to do was ask: order even, a prescrition to a madman on the prowl.

shot twice in the chest, once in the temple

vulnerable once, never again, a job beatifully done.

what am I waiting for feeds my paranoia

hand over fist all down the throat, forcefully

they say suicidal man regret it at the last 

and with backs turned to the sky they face the ground

and the thought does not mellow the storm, perish the voices I am missing

something. 

the aching of dragging chains we refuse to remove

for need of punishment is a burden not worth receiving

nor sharing neither for keeps as a lesson learnt

I broken the mystic that loving someone or something would somehow save myself

that first must be a gift born and freely given to oneself

once the mirror is pieced together and smiling back at me like I want it to.

nothing to conceal if I do not believe I have turned into a *sham sort'a people

I wish I felt the warmth of love

the suggestion of surrender

the confort of being understood

not because I do not have such nice pleasantries

no joy survives the erosion of denial by the betrayal of not believing

what you know or should have known (better in the past, surely darling)

 

For those reproach

If I do not go that's my fault, that's a fact eh?

Do allow me to be in the wrong and concede me the opportunity

To slowly get out of this situation

Don't face a man getting older succumbing to temptation 

to trust the leap before he could reach for what's unseen.

__________________________________________________________

Malady a state of being

how foolish of me

A sight of raw disconfort, pouring unearth

Undead, bent and awash with rain breaking it down

Above water, slippery dreamcatcher

capturing words unspoken that ring hurtly true

Setting alarms loathed and quite problematic

deadly by design and my heartstrings part of the canvas

Irritating, damm allergies come alive

A bad melody stuck on repeat

Loop and round you and me reflection

of hacking at what's close and dear

Venture a fragile familiar routine

A to B passing cliffts and clouds towards dying

Feet firmly on pavement on an incline, necessary ascension

Complaining borrows weight off my venomous veins

Ethanol an interaction facilitator, can't boil high enough

Gaze, stare, generate a spark by willpower (or dynamite)

One can wander, dream, implode:

Love spewed outwards

Clicking the wrong tune, permeating the skin

the ground, the very earth that serves Finite

Humble, sustaining the burden

Of the continuum at ample depth

Ants and giants thread different sights

Soon to discover a blood trail shining blue

May us turn to bone dust and dissolve gently father.

___________________________________________________________________

A weapon does not grant more safety

than rules cut vice, sin and grandeur

In days, weeks and years invested in the imprisonment 

of both good and worse (off) men (mostly)

Taint this river red with the cruel realization

Of faithless flesh, worn off instincts and little to gamble for

 

for those above reproach

in the colder nights

If I do not go that's my fault, is that a fact?

Do allow me to the in the wrong and concede me no sympathy

To grief the earning of responsability of running into a wall

nose bloody, all sorts of aching and a pulsing sense of relief

Face first and turned blue with fear of what's to come (so petty)

be it divine or hellish torment hold your words wisely

Puzzling to hold dear this space: Silence

To embrace what's to come, disconfort routine

I shan't forget nor forgive

I allow my betters that gracious grace and hold spite

in raw undeniable amazement.

men couldn't see

straight

what aught the ghost to do

and thats an escape

never taught letters

ought to write better

a childish drag of

feet, agitated by desolation

confusion, despair

next to me.

 

theatre of war 

thought versus instinct

the nerve

the need lingers

in naked splendor

machine cog exposed

rusts easily

men are reborn instead

fuse metal to flesh

security engaged, the chain is off

patience depleted

the devil is near

to laughter

the greatest of

devices:equalizer

to the plenty equilibrium (a game)

to the merry ammunition (tremble in fear)

to the few scarce hope (to chain oneself)

find fault below, He appears

abound Seasons to naivety

all aboard, I repeat, I insist

I must oblige, make it plain

irregardless of quantity

of teeth, shaved clean and straight

choice cut words

opportunity censor. Silence contempt

Join in: coats by the door.

deeply unsatisfied

jammed my little toe at the door now they are split, torn and swolen

all kinds of ugly inside out covered in a disgusting solution

a bad omen to reject the vile opportunity for canibalism

wishing I suppose to become something else than a charade at peace

I read something soleem and truly out of reach as often books can

magicate to those with far more time than contempt at hand

war that what may become of broken men driven to follow a cruel design

men with two faces, that which they must live with

and that which they shall die with and slammed I may be into that forbidden wall

glasses dissecating my eyeline, actively, as the iris becomes less human

limps that do not obey nor perform or taste the same

a bitter truth hard to swallow but I shall try all the same.

the beaten tried path feels runny and unsatisfying

powerless to call it time, sat on a clift admiring the scenery

the fragility of flesh seduced by wind, secured by rope and gravity

dance in sexual harmony and I am afraid to say I didn't catch what you said

my mind drifted elsewhere before I realized I did not care

pause to hold and magnify the duration, the worship of the whoreson

a mistake not easily changed, bend

trailing hair and face as if to deny and absorb obssession that shan't burn easily

"I miss the way you say my name 

The way you bend the way you break 

Your makeup running down your face 

The way you fuck, the way you taste"

 

the scab soons recedes into new flesh pink skin

what a waste, irritating, positively insulting

to the blood pool running down the drain

swarming the sewers, clearing the limescale

old friends go to war seeing red

no getting away caught inbetween

mismatch of socks, disgrace

sore eyes, socket bloated

the eye that could not be saved

caved in, gravity took hold

misery has us running circles

not always

the hammering will cease

be the last resort

or a falling of pieces a siege

 

of willpower

if the devil whispers

my lips follow.