Tag Archives: living

In The Presence of Perdition

“And it is from this world of darkness
Which come the evil, destructive forces of man’s nature.”

~*~

Come one, come all, to the audience of the deceased

Have a taste of the pleasure that your rotting tongue missed

Sit before the actors regurgitating lines in vaudeville sarcasm

And your skin is stitched directly to the burning emblem

So curse all the horrors and scream at the fainthearted

A minor threat, a copycat’s tragic death, bloodshot gazes averted

Give out the two-faced masks that conceal the grotesque

For that flimsy veil of deception that only ire savages protect

So hold your breath and shut your lungs, there’s no other place for the living

Break your grasp and lose control on the mausoleum graves we’re dancing

I’m built for blame and bland on sins, severed eyes won’t see the true vision of hell

And I can’t be saved by devotees and war-bent crimes they preach on the chapel

But don’t worry, I’ll still clap along to the act until my blistered hands catch on fire

Dante’s inferno is just a burlesque caricature compared to this hellish life that even the devil desires.

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I Collect Knives For A Living, What About You?

Did you think that this was all an excuse for
Hospitality, I know you think its all because of me
At first glance, I’ll breathe in
Leaving myself no room to move, at all
My mind is so flooded and I’m drunk with regret…

~*~

The tastes of stale regret and naphthalene

Another back turned on the open doorway

Fingers doused in iodine, alcohol, chlorine

Waiting for the pain to settle down, replay

.

Rusty crowbar flirting with the windowsill

These corroded wrists haven’t had their fill

Punctures arresting moments of a contrition

Skins embalmed, synthetic human condition

.

Swirling pastel watercolours and paint thinner

Interpreting artistic gashes, mixing all together

Cobalt strings, a neon glower of vermilion stars

Punishing priorities, daggers and guns on a war

.

Consuming traitor thiamine and betrayal’s booze

The reverse of a fraud, there’s nothing left to lose

A ventriloquist’s windpipe running out of oxygen

Nauseating disorientation, from a stagnant anacin

.

Lifelines tied to sycamore trees, carved ink indelible

But the oaths made by shedding blood can be soluble

Viscera in peril, executing a resentment due fortnight

I’m provoking hospital emergencies or flashing lights

.

Self-sabotage and mutual mutinies, fractured pinky promises

Wayward ethos revolting, a temper testament, trading curses

A compromised compulsion, haldol in hazardous momentum

Meaningless psychosis, mangled liar’s baptism in moratorium.

~*~

A fake, a fraud, forked tongue and I am nervous
At least I can say I made it out this time
I am just fine where you have left me
As for you be sure to cover up your mouth
I don’t know how to say this, my thoughts have just run out…

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no. mercy.

there is

mercy for

the living

there is

mercy for

the dead

but there’s

no mercy

for the living

who wishes

to be dead.

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Wouldn’t it be great if we were dead?!

I’m not a morning person

And today I’m wearing black

To mourn the death of my motivation

I wish my sleep can go back

And pray I make it through the day

Before my sanity does give way

And my kneecaps’ll shatter down

As into drowsiness I resolutely drown

But if I don’t return back to the living

Don’t listen to their foolish reasons

And don’t give me an early funeral

I’m not a mourning person.

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