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Spirituality is a field,
a meadow, scattered with trees and flowers,
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Life depleted, run dry, and from this foolish world departed,
met with darkness rich and pure and open-hearted.
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I look, I see.
and I fail.
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Words stated loudly, for clarity,
fall on deaf ears, are you proud of me?
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TO DEATH.
A hidden darkness sings,
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Faces that used to mean the world to me begin to shimmer / like downed rodents roasting on asphalt,
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this is a dead place.
A place where broken hearted housewives sing whispered laments
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The highway is a distant orange glow beneath the shrouded canvas of stars,
the grass below me twists and gropes like thousands of tiny hands.
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Socialization as thick and dusty as the smoke that chokes the bar,
I’m sick of dumb, blonde smiles and drunken ‘oh, there-you-are!’s
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In a time so long ago, it cannot be recalled
there lived a small girl in a castle who was feared by all,
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For what once was coloured lively,
rich hues begin to fade;
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I saw a star falling
and in its trail was my whole life,
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A million eyes, a million stars;
each one as distant
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Like nails on a chalkboard,
like razors underneath tender fingernails,
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Coughing and pain,
blood stained teeth.
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Your rotten caress, your pestilent breath,
your cold lips say yes, your beautiful death.
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I'm standing on the edge of a cliff,
singing softly to the abyss,
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There is no LOVE.
there is only passion
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When you speak I don't hear words, I hear an angel sing,
then you hit that final note, and destroy everything,
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A vast expanse of earth covered one half of his view,
a vast expanse of cloud covered the other.
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From shadows deep and treacherous,
from cold so harsh and grating.
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Who looks for freedom in the night?
Who would think to look in darkness for a light?
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No point in denying,
no sense in faking artificial hope.
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I got a poem from someone a while back,
yes, someone, I'm allowed to be cryptic,
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I am so fucking sick of everyone.
I am so fuckign sick of the way they try so hard to care.
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Done now, not that anyone will read it.
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Pray not for the poor, or for their dead children.
Pray not for the less fortunate, or the lives they are denied.
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I passed through the pages of a present of mine,
a photo album of sorts, with me and...friends?
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(scene opens on at a carnival, the ticketmaster out front of a freakshow calling out to the teeming masses that pass by him.)
Come one, come all!
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Take a deep and read the title, then either read it or walk the f**k away.
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Holy fuck.
I never thought I could feel like this,
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Adding names to a list, like corpses to a closet,
you told them you were fine, you were lying but they bought it.
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Disturbing and offensive. Don't read unless you it if you don't like it.
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