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Dead Dreams IIAn emptiness that eats
Nothing is left for the fruitfulness of our bonds
Together we hold still
But apart we break into shattered pieces of our pasts.
Why is an onslaught of misdemeanored causes.
No one's will is enough to wretch us free
Forsaken and tainted we stand
Our fingers interlocked in a dance of subtlety
Dead Dreams ITick tick tick goes the bomb
Dead dead dead goes its inhabitants.
Bye to our lives
Hello to our ends
Wishful thoughts mean more than air
But our breaths cannot grasp our needs
Forever fallen here we land in our falls.
Death of My RitualPray, just pray a day once more
The faith of our father's will keep us dear.
A silence of love shall dream anew
As the pilgrimage of children laugh till dawn.
The words are meaningless if the letter is old
For the need of the ancients have come to pass.
Come of AgeThe dance of the abdominals ends in tragedy
As leaves of the foliage come to pass.
Come the end of constellations undone
And still see you not.
The mentions of entries are here to stay.
If only our hearts could be swayed that way.
Feet of fallen create the pyre
As the ashes of tears hold those truths.
My Weak TruthI can't save you
All of you out there
Can't become the chosen
Not even if I cared.
My faults may bury me
My fears bring on my death
And my heart threatens to pause
In a swift suicide
As my mind wraps itself in a twist.
The paper in my pocket
Stalling the truth that shall come.
The sleepless come welcomed
And the dawning forgotten
for shadows are remembered
And the light turned off.
I can't bring myself to care anymore
It keeps tearing me apart.
Lost SelfHere comes my memory
I lost it long ago
Locked within the raindrops
bleeding from the sky.
Broken came the pieces
dropped without regret
Screaming for the recognition
of the greedy blind.
Falling toward the center
shaping what can be
only to ignore it all
As the freedom fails to ring
inside my lifeless heart.
I Tell You NotPlace me in a corner
and leave me here to die
My suicidal trivia
has succumbed into my mind.
Unlike your washy process
I always get it right
Following through this nightmare
of justice served real cold
a wonderland of echoes
of a land forever grand
with an outdated legend
Bringing forth the lies.
cuz if I were to tell you
the truth of which I know
Then I'd have to kill you
So they can still ignore me
Upon this empty corner
of which I make my home.
Letter To Myself As YouHi…How Are You?
I'm…well I don't exist.
So I guess that means
I can't really say I'm fine.
It I did, I'm sure I would be.
Fine that is. Then again
Considering that I don't exist
Yet I'm here "talking" to you
Means I'm a figment of your
Imagination. That is…well that
Means…that you are indeed
Insane. I'm sorry, it must
Be hard for you to understand.
I'm sure if you check your pocket
You'll find that slip of paper I gave
You. You know which one.
The one to remind you that you are sane
While you're insane. Check I assure you
It's there. I lie not. You found it
Didn't you. Heh I knew you would.
After all your mind is gone. How
Else would I be able to place
That scrap of paper in your pocket?
I'm bored now. I find your lack of
A clear mind bothersome. Your denial
Suffocates me. After all you fell
Into society's open arms. What did
You expect to have happen to you?
To go there is to say farewell
to yourself. The you in your mind.
The one you who holds the door
And knows when to sc
Slumbering DoorwaysI do not think I shall find sleep tonight
It does not call upon my door this night
Not a single knock or turn of the knob
Of this sleep, I was surely robbed.
Begainst the malice of this deed
Just a single night's sleep is what I need
Yet mocked I am again this night
To forfeit my sleep untingled without fright.
My eyelids unweighed, too shallow to sink
For they continue to gaze unable to blink
Forever in my slumber shall be forgotten
As I lay in my bed unsettled & darkened
Listening to the whispers that call in my wake
I settle in this darkness of which I forsake
My lust for this dream of which cannot be
The day that the door comes knocking for me.
Nightly DemonsWhen I was little,
I used to run up the stairs,
To evade the demons that lurked in the darkness.
Afraid that they’d devour my limbs,
But they’ve since migrated into my head,
Some nights, I still lay in bed fearing for my life.
I see myself smirking in the mirror,
Holding a knife to my throat.
Others times, I’ve been thrown into holes
By Shadowy figures
Only to find
That I’ve been digging my own grave.
at the sea(m)s
of tidal vacancy;
I am the ocean, and
the moon has
cling to reason,
I stumbled on
abrupt. bedridden yet
ever chas(m)ing, I
fell to salt-soaked
ground from a
words were all it took
but all you do is take.
I am waking
and I am shaken
tsunami waves that break
in empty frantic fury;
the briefest repose
or instant of stillness,
I yearn; instead
I am abandoned by language,
I am bound to languish beneath
tempests that swell,
even the most desperate of breaks
for the shore.
All aloneBeing surrounded by people
Frightens me deeply
I'd rather be alone
And away from everyone
Alone but not lonely
Here I am
On my own
The way it's supposed to be
The end (acrostic)Through this life we suffer
Heading towards the void
Enduring pain along the way
Ending life early is no solution but
Nothng can prevent death
Dealing with it is all we can do
Poor Wooden Puppymy poor wooden puppy
has a leash
nailed into his throat
has no say
in what the other end
gets wrapped around
or tied to
and when we
walk and run
we roll, tangled
both as likely
to go backward
the where and when
bumps of where
we've already been
(or have we?)
his wooden nose
truth is, puppy
this world really is
its motors and belts
within everyday life
bodies and buildings
behind us, because
only what we want
and no one truly
(Un)RestrainedYou weep like a bird caught in a cage
but your wings are not bound
and no bars corral you, it is time
you leapt free-- grasp to life
like a starving creature clutches
the first buds of springtime.
The world is all a-blossom;
it is calling out for you to fly
and you must, you must unfold
in a burst of glorious plumage
there are no more moments left
for wreathing yourself in loneliness,
like dawn mist envelops and smothers
the early stillness of morning.
Your chrysalis is complete,
peacock child, and your heart
beats with the wind. Listen,
listen: spread wide your arms
and embrace the cosmos inside you;
you were never a lonesome eagle,
but a phoenix awaiting
Shatter ChildrenBipolar turns you into a maelstrom. It brings you to your knees and makes you ache. You are naked and raw, your skin a patchwork of fused nerve-endings touched again and again; hot flames and burnt knives licking and lacerating your soul. It smashes you against oystered rock; mad ocean waves in a dead sea. You are no longer in chaos. You are chaos. You become the fuel to set yourself on fire and you can’t stop burning. You can’t put yourself out. You have to burn the flesh and wick and wax until there’s nothing left but fumes and the fire burns out to ash and cinder and black coal, and a toxic wasteland where smoke fills your lungs in soft grey and deadly plumes becomes your body’s home. And then, you re-light. You, your chemistry, a mysterious god, or the world strikes a match.
Schizophrenia makes you shatterglass. You splinter into shards which split and fracture and melt through your hands to vanish into ether. You are thin air treading the spaces between dim
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