Facepaints on forearms.

The sidelines of the match crowd with
hostilities,
misguided hostilities -
Cut-up pieces of bits of memories,
conjured-up fragments of sorry instances.

My back is the only canvas on which you can comfortably write,
knowing it'll stay hidden;
subconscious loss of control flows out sometimes.
Cursed dams split and mental gates let loose
(a flood of unaware desires) -

Stay oblivious, it becomes you.

Atrophy of degeneration,
a beautiful paradox -
And the world is now bathed in an orange glow.

Wallflower origami.

Run, run, fucker, run –
Nobody wants to go unwarned or unarmed

Inside the fire of your deepest secrets,
she’ll find you, burn you alive

As thoughts burn, the ashes scatter
Feel them sinking into dirt

Souls breathe memories out as carbon monoxide,
and as the fires eradicate,

you’ve found your place.

Empty gods.

A vicarious sadness takes over
and all the while a panic and a surge of
adrenaline
conquers bodies.

Serotonin flows thin,
dopamine a mere faraway memory;
make the most of this now.

Empty bottles and cigarette butts have now
defined existences
as worlds crash, burn, recollect and recall.

As caged animals scream silently for release
and fires, fatal flames, burn
somewhere deep inside,
hidden;
they sense they’re not alone.

Much like some of us,
much like me,
they’re begging to be released.

Still.

Stuck, stuck, floating

Glued to where I lay, forced to adapt
Always vicariously feeling, constantly
Intervention calling, please help

Sing to me, teach me

My arms retreat to where they were
and not much changes
Angels drift by, nonchalant and ignorant

My only lover called sadness reaches for me

As all arms retreat simultaneously,
my head wills itself to implode –
I hear a clicking and I’m gone

Bruises and sutures, I’m here

The furnace of life.

The snow falls silently upon the icy pavement
sink into me

let the flames do the burning

light a cigarette,
forget forget

forget me, my voice, my disposition
these murderer’s hands retreat,
these murderer’s arms retreat

let the ashes do the dimming

and never let my fire go out

Call me captain, yessir.

Fly into my web, call me a liar;
Try to make me the only one, but flit about elsewhere (and away) nevertheless -
Freedom is the only way for us to beand yet, success is impossible

Loveliness poisons my life, my soul,
and adoration is its metastasis
Homicidal thoughts, cancerous minds –

Perversions emerge, atop rooftops


I can’t save you –

can’t be your superhero now

or

ever

Adoration's ghost.

Look how silently the rain falls,
Try to remember through dusty glasses;
I’d love for you to only see the good in me.

This figurine tires easily,
Fogged lenses impair your view;
I’d love for you to only see the sanity in me.

(The rust creaks and I settle,
longing for more than the ghost)

As the dusk embraces the dirt,
I wake to realize myself being dragged into you;
I’d love for you to never see the deceit in me.

Bad company.

Fear of loss is a fickle thing;
it passes, returns, crests and passes.
For me, it is timely and at times invisible,
other times far too visible –
horribly so.

People lose, gain, love and are pained;
a cycle without beginning or end.

Attempted assassination of the heart, mind, body, soul
makes one’s head foggy, full of smoke.
Vicious talons, vicious talons,
do tell me where you’re headed.

As music fills my ears, the world dims,
my words become a mess,
my voice, my honest voice, is all I have.

Attempting to make my thoughts reality,
perception-worthy marks on my psyche,
I find I often fail.
None of it makes much difference most of the time.

A front line soldier.

An ongoing battle;
it’s merely my part.
As I step to the front lines,
I’m petrified.

I will never be waterproof
and I will fall often –
a knockout blow always takes me down.

Out of tears, out of their meaning;
Flailing as I attempt to gather the pieces
after destructive realizations.

Call me wonderful,
(I’ve heard it before),
but never bother to show its meaning.

A helpless victim to my own vices,
and I can’t grasp concepts anymore.
One more cigarette, one more day.

Liquid temptation, take me by the hand,
lead me to Eden, help me understand.
Drift as smoke into the air, coil and spin.

The recoil strike’s never easy,
the shotgun of my mind’s lethal –
I’ve got the smile of a killer.

I always know where they are,
I always see them,
I always end up in their arms.

Comforted by discomfort;
(help me here), listen,
my shields are up.

There’s a fire inside of me,
dangerous and malevolent,
but it’ll never lay a flame on you.

Melancholia is my lover,
her eyes the bluest blue,
and I’ll take my mask from the table;

Welcome back, baby.

Én route.

As day falls into the arms of the night
and the night is woken by the embrace of the dawn,
flowing into day again,

I’m with you.

My mask fell when yours did;
it cascaded down in a flow of facadebits
(things that were no longer selfishly necessary)

The light is brighter,
the night less melancholy,
my mind less chaotic,
and my heart –
it’s for you to hold.

I see the rising sun in your glowing eyes;
reach for me in the dark and I’ll feel it too.

My entire being pulses in blue,
from my eyes to my veins as you drift through them.

And the only thing brighter than the morning sun is how I feel waking up with you.

Never forget.

Liko smoke rushing into clean lungs,
some people are able to contaminate and
colonize.
Sitting on the edge, walls crashing down,
all the while hoping it'll be worth it in the end.
Sometimes penmarks fade or smudge on hands;
hands that sin, hands that heal
From time to time, the smoke will choke
and become hostile.
And as the tension stills the air,
not one of them all is left whole.
The epidemic swings through souls and takes over -
auditory misconceptions spin through oxygen.

Malevolence.

After that fatefully disastrous day, that moment,
You were torn to pieces, unable to feel carnal instances
As you floated through the world half-human, sub-human,
and not able to experience like the rest of us but Lord help us,
did we experience together.
With no other have I felt the same kind of excitement
when it came down to wanton situations and love.
Good God, come back
These days, you’ve become someone I don’t particularly care for inside,
but insides are a different matter
and every memory takes over me.
PS this was all a lie, someone I barely knew felt better inside me,
every time,
you malicious fuck

Floating through.

How the world looks through dilated pupils –
raw
A heavy weight of the head as we slip
A champion should emerge; it’s time
Change is relative and flowing
Thanatos pulses in the veins of those least capable to exert
force or will
A line of happiness like a gunshot to the stomach
Rightfully and redundantly put:
Those who ignore instincts automatically give way
to a series of happenings of an unkind sort.

----------------------------------

Repeatedness might confront one’s desire to change
or move on
Infinitely complicated, for it never stops spinning
Lives intertwine in stereo to form the big picture –
A spiderweb of human emotion
Captivated souls lean on voices to use for comfort;
to abuse,
to molest,
to desert
Quick and painless as it may be,
never underestimate.

Consonants.

Cavernous, walking through it now
Oblivious, we remain for the benefit of us all
Look upon it through a kaleidoscope now
And try, try to make something sensical out of us all
A dying army drums on the ground now
Coming to witness the last seconds of us all
Adrenaline rising, gushing out, spilling now
Do your worst and take vengeance upon us all
Cacophonous memorysounds take over now -

Injection-like days.

Godgutters and holysewers
Indentations on insides of elbows
A euphoria above us all, aforementioned vices
Determinism in its absolute truth
makes man undetermined to affect –
Thus, a vicious cycle is born
and fates infinitely pre-decided

Taking grotesque climaxes of a chemical kinds into one’s hands
drives man onto an elevated level of insanity
and it comes in waves
Fatal undulations of the balance
the voices of reason and moral merely mewl pathetically now
as they lead man into an unbreakable fortress of insanity
with silence
in solitude.

Airborne.

Lofty opinions as such, you call yourself an angel -
Flit further, for I can't bear the infinite jealousy.
In defense, I'll judge you,
as you were meant to be judged. (Do you not know that we will judge angels?) 1 Cor. 6:3

The possibility that it's you clutching at my spine and lungs through my skin, it's not small; I can't breathe,
for lack of faith or desire to be saved.
Salvation might be the wrong word -
I prefer to call it a cheap, hypocritical con,
but I always, always wanted to be an angel.
Seemingly so pure and righteous; there had to be something wrong with angels,
because of balance - wrong and right, light and dark.
Not even "servants of God" are made of only light.
Filthy souls

Temptation.

Some women are absolute demons;
They're hard to spot, sometimes, most of the time.
They'll fuck you over, leaving you begging for a merciful death or their undying love, no matter how painful either would be.
Most demonic women have eyes of fire or ice and a disposition of viral injections.
Naturally hypnotic voices echo through any room where you've encountered an individual of this species.
These women will completely captivate you - heart, soul, body, psyche, thoughts, dreams.
They will sneak into a position of being your entire life subconsciously, which you realize only once she's left.
They never stay.

Like spontaneous combustion, she'll light your heart aflame and never let it go out, even after she's gone.
These demons are passionate yet unfeeling.
I battle with them, I love them, they love me.
But they're nothing compared to soft hair, blue eyes and a contagious laugh.

Your eyes.

The trials of Hercules morph in modern day to psychic survival.
We are a diseased people, plagued by internal fires of the mind.
These days, it requires more than slaying a many-headed, malicious dragon to stay alive
We need to slay our own demons and no (sword) or (spear) is going

to help (!!)

Macabre, morbid, tragic
I resent these words.
This entity of our collective wellbeing needs more light.
(existence)

Irrational, sane, rational, insane
Locked in by extremes as the hoped-for traits lie between Freud's worst nightmares or wet dreams
Thanatos, thanatos
Give me libido (injections)

It'll hold.

Floating through the apple-green clouds, an airplane visits my conscience.
As it passes by me, it waves and a knife flies against one of the small, rounded windows as (even from far outside the airplane) even I can hear a blood-curdling scream echoing through the nightly, light sky and that scream penetrates my bones
(bones)
I soar further as I recall the memories and see them colonize my mind yet again, again, all over again.
Post-traumatic stress disorder, I shake in my parachute, the motor churns with pure energy and I recall again and I smile as I recall again, again, all over again.

Starry nights.

Combat boots, bottle caps, prostitution misconceptions.
The world sighs with each heavy step and a cigarette lights the way.

Communicational mishaps mar minds as the clouds stumble through the sky,
powered by violent pushes from the wind.

Untouchable happiness – dangerous, volatile, flammable.
The flames’ obscene licks bring forth insanity and nobody is left whole.

Life as seen through another’s eyes becomes vicariously satisfying;
you know once that realization hits, the light will never flow out of your eyes the same way
again.