Tag Archives: creation

The Madman’s Magnum Opus

Insane is all I know right now, and my head feels demented

My nails fall out, my gums decay, before I get sedated

I choke on my teeth and swallow a few, shit, it feels hard

As they wring the spit from my eyes and again I’m a discard

So numb that I couldn’t feel the knife on my spine anymore

And I couldn’t count the tally marks screaming on the wall

Keeping track of the infinite days when the demon lets me be

And inches its fangs closer to put me out of my stagnant misery

.

Because the blood tastes more delectable when it’s not my own

As the whores that I corrupted bring my wasted body home

They don’t flinch at the maggots that they suck from my mouth

But they do protest before the chloroform hits their breathing south

No no, it’s not torture, I promise I won’t ever hurt you, my dear

I just wish to lick away all your mingling doubts and puerile fear

But don’t piss yourself, don’t soil your skin, or I’ll be very mad indeed

Behave yourself and stay sweet as hell, or you’ll die before you heed

.

But they caught me revering over one of my masterpiece creations one day

Yelling loud profanities to such beauties, that’s not a very nice thing to say

They dislocated my shoulder just trying to put my artistic hands in cuffs

And took away my beloved artworks, goddamn these useless criticising cops

So that’s how I ended up in here, living and sleeping in a filthy jail cell

With a colossal man who uses me to play every night as if I couldn’t even tell

The food is bland, the nurses laugh, the doctors give me exclusive diseases

The medicine is cheap and expired, putting my mind under heavy poisoned dazes

.

But it’s alright, because the girls I love visit me when no one else is looking

Their breaths may be putrid, their bones may protrude, but I won’t be complaining

And they’re building a rope out of their intestines to help with my grand escape

Don’t worry, I’ll be back to make you feel loved again, so just you patiently wait

They may inject cholera and botulism in me, and force me to see an underpaid shrink

But I won’t be deluded at all, no, as clear as a dark day I can still properly think

I’ll lace my pustule-dotted hands with anthrax and touch them until they’re all dead

Writhing on the floor as I step on their bodies, no one can help these bastards now

.

But for now, insane is all I can ever know, and all this pain feels rather demented

My cheeks slough off, my ears leak brain fluid, yet I feel so divinely elevated

I suffocate on plastic pills and jolt again from the electroshock, shit, it’s such a buzz

As they wring the tears from my broken neck and again I black out with a slurred cuss

So insensible I couldn’t feel the rusted scalpel slicing out my frontal lobe anymore

But I wouldn’t have to count the scratched tally marks shrieking at me on the stone wall

Because when the demon rends another piece from my heart and transfers immortality

Vengeance will be served and heads will roll; this world is damned, so I’ll add a little more beauty.

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Filed under Poetry, Valentines Poetry

Ex Nihilo

Oh, but don’t you see? We’re made to destroy

Shooting arrows onto the pockmarked ceiling

Until it loses its shaky grip, and begins falling

Finding another home in the chasm of our skin

.

Creating the chaos that even god won’t decimate

The first sin and final revelation, we will recreate

Holding back the maelstrom, a cataclysm presents

With every pain and agony, the loathing we resent

.

Chasing back the darkness, like starved animals we breathe

Savages tearing apart throats to shreds to get what we’ll need

Bleeding, bruised, medicine refused, suffering keeps us awake

Or we will never stay alive under the weight of all our mistakes

.

Running away from reality, breaking in nothing as we stalled

Tortured eyes seek wandering lies, and scratching at the walls

They make signs and burn our names in the wake of destruction

That we caused with our dying hands, genocide of the generation

.

Can I just have one more, one more…can I just have one more taste?

I won’t make it, won’t make it—I won’t make it through another day

Pleading and obliterating, until all that’s left is you and I alone to die

We’re made to destroy this decomposing world of devastation tonight.

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Sophisticated, Manipulated

You make suffering

Sound like such an

Elegant red romance,

Sophisticated stance,

Graceful lithe dance,

A pure angel chance;

And I make suffering

Feel like destruction,

Blatant manipulation,

Discordant perdition,

The chaotic creation

Of a sloppy emotion.

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A Mad Boy’s Love Letter

(Written as a reciprocal to Sylvia Plath’s Mad Girl’s Love Song. A poor reciprocation notwithstanding, but nevertheless, carry on.)

~*~

Charm that allures in whim

A grandiose wicked scheme

Deluding myself in dalliance

Chemical love, not romance

T’was my best man, insanity

Blackness simpers arbitrary

I dream a castigated fantasy

Pray judge such not harshly

.

If both lips existed out there

Then heaven, it must be rare

If you mayn’t one so tangible

Then hell, it may be beautiful

The stars, t’were yours alone

Though you needn’t bemoan

We shall carry our revelry on

To hanging gardens Babylon

.

I promised I will return warm

And collapse in abstract arms

Yet tragedy, it reared its face

My name was already erased

I mightn’t be the thunderbird

Roaring to my springtime girl

Rather a demigod, a faded blue

Making the world drop for you

.

For nay was I a corporeal creation

I lacked in belief to conjure it long

Without you love, I would be dead

(Or was it simply all inside my head?)

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Deus Ex Machina

The creation of the god machine

Was quite the achievement of the century

The inventor, glorified, revered, caused quite a scene

As, in a highfalutin tone, he announced, he decreed

“I’ve created a machine that can solve everything!”

.

The creation of the god machine

Instead of serving its original purpose

Of advancing humanity’s throes

And curing ignorance and ameliorating problems hard

Rather, seemed to throw our spiraling momentum backwards

.

The creation of the god machine

Was not a peaceful time at all

As creationists and non-believers cried

And questions of morality thrived

Imploring “You cannot stuff that amount of power

Inside an infernal machine!”

.

The creation of the god machine

Was further made chaotic

As the moralists’ cries were even more outshone

By those avaricious pigs starving for power

Those twitching hands frenzied with utter greed

.

The creation of the god machine

Fed the planet into a dark age

Brutes and barbarians acting upon primal rage

Machines and technology shunned and revolted

The dark ages – quite literally, if not red

.

The creation of the god machine

Nearly wiped the entire world clean

And even the geniuses and clever minds that hid

Barely survived from the ravenous beasts that run

The last remaining shells of what used to be human

.

The creation of the god machine, he found

Was never worth its discovery, humans were not prepared for this round

Now if only the inventor could create something

To advance; or perhaps, backtrack a million steps

From the cataclysmic maelstrom he had started

…His mistake.

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The Darker Thespian

No one else knows it, but I am an artist;

A writer, a painter, an actor, jack of all trades, I have it all

But not a conventional one, for my inspiration lists

At the very void of my brain and the ruin of my soul

.

I inspire myself by dragging my emotions down

Depression is very welcome, for he’s what fuels my mind

I sacrifice and suffer, for artistry I’ll scream and frown

A passionate artist, for my craft, leave my common sense behind

.

I weave chromatic words together with the darkness of my heart

Create a web of lies, my burdens dictate my art

Scratching words on a pad, hoping someone would notice me

Creating my own reality and cautionary tales with poetry

.

I paint works of arts with a sharp brush and my own blood

The numbing pain, the crimson rain, give me joy, it’s quite odd

Painting pretty pictures on the canvas of my skin

 Covering my ugly scars with better ones, abstract to its kin

.

I practice my acting by faking my feelings everyday

It’s all a stage play to me, why does it matter anyway

Tons of masks to hide me, all plastered upon my face

Trying to compete with a society that is the greatest fake

.

I am an artist, and this is what I do so far

Everything I feel for this world, on my works and creations it lies

But shame now that the world has lost another star

For my artistry finally drove me to the wall and lead to my demise.

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