Kuroko's blog: "My Poetry and ranting and whatever"

As each day passes, it feels less and less like a fairy tale and more and more like cinderella woke up and realized it was a dream. She took a wrong turn in her glass slippers and lost her way. You were right. Something changed. I repainted our mural with cheap paint. I never used primer. It was not set right. I stepped out of us and I could not step back in. My fire for you has turned to smoldering embers. You said if I chose to leave again, you wouldn't stop me. Please don't. I have been unfaithful despite all my words in their entirety, living now to no longer bring you dishonor. I havent the fire I used to have. And now despite your love I must release you. I ask you to forgive me. Please.

I just read your e-mails. I respect you Devon, and I respect your decision. You asked for forgiveness. Darling of course I forgive you, I love you, and that will never change. You say you must release me, fine. But do so with the knowledge that sometimes when you put an unfinished book down for a time, when you pick it back up you can start in again without having to reread the previous chapters. What I'm saying is, for me, personally, this isn't truly the end of us, or at least it doesn't have to be. Perhaps right now in this time of our lives, things have shifted and the fire has cooled. But raging infernos have been started from tiny embers long after it was thought that the fire was completely dead. Baby if you want me out of your life, I have to respect that. However, I would never want for us to completely cut all ties, as I still haven't completely given up hope. I dunno if any of this makes sense. Look long story short, I love you, and I always will, no matter what. Truth.

To Pop Evil’s “Torn to Pieces”

Under a sky of iron, a tide of blood
Laps at my feet, coagulating with tears
My past, the long-dead and nearly
Their faces play before me.

Chains of salt and blood
Wrapped around me binding me
To this beach to the sound of my
Screams and howling weeping
And ever-living misery.
I am enslaved to my own hell.

My twin is all but dead.
My father a branded memory.
I am haunted by memory
By an unceasing pain.
The bones, tears and blood 
They lay under the sand
How many do I owe blood to?

I live a suffering that is nocturnal.
It rears its head at night.
It hunts me.
I drink. I inject liquid numb.
I die. 
Every day I die.

My pain is my chain.
My friend. My God.
I cry and bleed.
The ever-perpetual wound.

It weeps blood and oil
And tears of the betrayed.

I live for the toxic burn,
The alcoholic oblivion.
My blood a flaming river
Of blackened death.

I know nothing of death.
I know .

My heart quakes, 
Every time she touches me.
Every time, I feel the wrench.
Do not lie to me.

Self-infliction is my own.
You shant take the blade to me
Without leaving a grave.
The ultimate journey.

I want to live.
But not like this.
Not living with a hole
Torn into my soul
No one to envelop myself
Into the pink and red
The sear of perpetuity.
01/03/15

Her beautiful face
Passing me on the street.
The image of her embracing me,
Kissing me with passion,
My heart, pain like a knife,
Pull it from my chest.
Like pulled-taffy.
Longer than imagination,
Long without sugar,
Wrapped around
A blackened may-pole.
To wave in the wind 
A warning to travelers:
“There are dead inside.”

How can one who cannot control his hunger
Ever hope to find love that, in of itself, is controlled?
Yearned for, it is not love only
But love and an equilibrial
Recalibration of the soul’s gyro.
The millstone of our own desires
Drags us to the bottom of our hungry sea.
The scavenger who hunts, 
Food for the eyes,
Msg for the soul.
Always hungry,
Never sated.
My hunger is a might voice.
Bellowing to be fed.
The wolves who rend and tear
My soul, the meat of the sheep.
I am, but I wish to be not.
To be not hungry for anything;
I am a slave to my flesh.
My task-masters,
My bended knee.

Remember the burning;
The golden sun
Insects that hunger
For the flesh of the young.

Wandering wastelands.
Seeking the wet.
Hiding in shadows
With vultures as pets.

Shimmering visions 
Call to your soul.
Stumbling blindly
Into a hole.

Scorpions sleep
In your boots by the door.
The thirst in your brain.
It ignites with a roar.

Crackling tinder;
It starts with your toes.
Nothing but ashes.
Your final death throes.

06/07/12

With each step, I hear naught but wind
Blowing over land.
This world of evergreen and brown
Laying under hand.

Every step, a silent step,
A carnal world of lore.
Under foot the bones of Earth
The Humans haven’t torn.

I feel the wind of Mother’s lungs,
The whispers of the world,
A world of shadows evergreen,
A map to God unfurled.

This place without the shadowed grave
Without Death or Vice.

I thank the world for garden fare,
A world without the time.
To be one with Earth, the mighty bones,
What finally is mine.

06/08/12

The coma of night
When the city twinkles
And all are sleeping,
I walk the streets in silence.

There is a rare sound
Of tires on macadam and then
It is gone.

Only street cleaners, 7/11 clerks and nurses
And others like me,
Only they whisper through human existence
Invisible to the fickle human eye
But like the mouse,
I vanish into a silent and dead
City of night.
The phantom in your midst.

Ash and steel, the color of the sky.
The world weeps, for all graves overflow.
But I possess a burning b rand, a divine
Disruption. A Holy Light.
Even so, my legs and broken, my wings torn
From their sockets, my divinity disrupted.
I see where light where there should be none.
Light surrounds that which has true sight.
Her hands wrap around the ragged remains
Of my divinity. The world unfurls in a blaze
Of Heavenly Glory.
Wings pour from my back as water,
My blessings restored.
She guides me through the valley of
The shadow of Death,
For I no longer hold any such reservation.
Y bones vibrate with the songs of legions
Of eternal Transcendence.

A thousand times, I’ve crossed the earth to find
The hand of fate.
A thousand times, in her embrace, my heart it did
Not sate.

Longing pounds like crashing waves into my grainy
Shore.
Pulling hope and y heart’s last light into the earthen core.

To drown in Mother’s crushing ruth, the
Search is worth the pain.
To find the boat upon the sea
To be reborn again.

Ocean storms toss to and fro
My lonely broken bow,
Crushed to splinters on the ocean floor, I have broken
My most sacred vows.

To worship you as forest sage, to travel the
Earth in haste.
To marry you and pledge my vows, my soul
Not gone to waste.

Beauty is to me the grail for which to stretch
My soul.
To feed upon the light of this, rooted in my hole,
My worship the only toll.
And yet, most things they crumble like silken blowing ash.
This too will come to pass like scars from ever-screaming lash.

Your grace is like the burning sun
On my skin, white from the cave.
The burns are warm and bittersweet, my
Mind begins to rave.

Madness swarms my brain like clouds,
Rising from blackened storm.
Buried deep within lightless hole, my soul
Is just as warm.

A thousand years, it seems, to seek
The cruel hands of Mother Fate.
To pay the toll, my purse is bare, to pay 
The inflation rate.

This concludes all poetry written as of 11 march 2015. Stay tuned!
-The Noble King of Crows

I stand at a street corner.
I gaze at the many.
They are the mindless.
They are the blind.

I gaze at the many.
They go about their business.
They are the blind.
They have no queen.

They go about their business.
Their lives as fickle as flames.
They have no queen.
And, yet they all have their purpose.

Their lives as fickle as flames,
They kiss their wives and lose their lives.
And yet they all have their purpose.
To know the world that bore them.

They kiss their wives, their lives,
And all of importance, goodbye.
To know the world that bore them,
They must know the world that bores them.

And all of important, goodbye,
Goodbye to the butterfly, the worm.
They must know the world that bores them. 
Blind to insidious filth.

Goodbye to the butterfly, the bee.
The forests become deserts.
They are blind to insidious filth.
A cancer of the mind.

The forests become deserts;
Welcome to the matrix.
A cancer of the mind.
Sloth to the ways of divinity.

Welcome to the matrix.
I shackle myself to the great machine.
Sloth to the ways of divinity,
I allow my bones to be ground into non-entity.

I shackle myself to the great machine.
The squeal is the requiem of billions.
I allow my bones to be ground into nonentity,
To be the seasonings of the food of demons.

The squeal of the requiem, the billions.
Hung by the ankle, awaiting the scythe.
To be the seasonings of the food of demons.
I grind the eyes from the skulls of obsoletion.

Hung by the ankle, awaiting the scythe.
I hear the cries of those awakened
I grind the eyes from the skulls of obsoletion.
To no longer see the kindling.

I hear the cries of those awakened.
The stew is mixed pound for pound. 
To no longer see the kindling,
They must take the blue pill.

The stew is mixed pound for pound.
Every drop, a diamond in dust.
They must take the blue pill.
To escape this nightmare wonderland.

Stacking timbers of pine and oak.
The cremating fire at sea I stoke.
Oil to burn to carry the soul.
Two silver coins to pay the toll.

Dragon ship to sail you home
On sapphire waves of cradle foam.
Burning torch, ignite the sky.
I give you wings so you may fly.

Fly to heaven,
The eternal sea.
Black as coal.
Return to me.

Summer winds from southern waste,
The souls of kings shall haunt this place.
Burning skies and floating ash,
Mark the road I travel last.

The mirror becomes
An extension of my self.
Ruffle. Ruffle.
Smooth a wrinkle, 
As a misplaced
Feather.
My name is not
Alfalfa.
I share the same
Curse.
Dance
To draw the eye
To the shiny plume.
The peahen.
The Great Observer.
Hear my cry of victorious poetry.
Pretty to beautiful.
When plumes are extended.
Many eyes to see much.
Dance,
Just to dance.
Ruffle. Ruffle.



06/09/12

“The shank was bent into a smooth and perfect circle, and the head, which resembled in shape the setting for a diamond, was engraved with a tiny lazy eight, the symbol for infinity. The artist, Simon, made it for her because he believed she had freed him for the self-crucifixion of his addiction. In an accompanying note, he wrote that one day she would meet a man who would so love her that, if his sacrifice would spare her from death, he would straighten the nail and drive it through his own heart.”
“Innocence”, Dean Koontz, P 317

The Zone
Street eggs cookin’ on summer black.
Strung out meth heads and dumpster crack.
Addicts are like owls calling out in the trees.
Crack-heads scoping in packs of threes.
Fingernails black and burned out pipes.
Sidewalk seizures and ashtray tripe.
There’s a crack-head hole in the wall,
Or a meth-head cooking in a burned out stall.
Time bombs ticking with deadly fume.
Deadly burn out with nuclear plume.
Santa drug addicts hiding in trees,
Crack-heads looking for PCP.
Took the stash and stripped him down.
Left the fat man lookin’ a clown.
Chained to the wall and seeing the sights.
Living your “life” combatting your frights.

I open my eyes and I am blinded.
The light fades as I adjust and I am stunned.
Before me, stacked to Heaven, are books.
Every book in the world, it seems, is here.
All my life, I’ve read books, countless in number.
But, the ideology of my falsity is
Truly a façade.
I have seen worlds so detailed, every madman
Knows not the realities as thin
As rice paper.
So many realms, worlds, kingdoms of smoke &
Spectre.
I have seen what you could only imagine,
And it is as empty as a long-forgotten tomb.
Once upon a time, my dreams were no different
From the world around me.
Once upon a time, love was tangible,
Dreams were real.
Now, all I feel is numb.
A derelict begging for entry to
The shipyard of shadows.
The eternal hunger of the breakers.
Hopes and dreams are thinly woven lies.
A knockoff for the promise of perfection.
All I ever wanted was my place among the ants.
Now I am promised my place among the damned.

03/16/12

I feel the Earth
Is the violin.
The sea is the bow.
With the pulling of the 
Waves is the pulling of
The bow. One last pull
Of my waves like my 
Life before the strings
Break and the wood
Of the violin is burned
To ashes.

10/27/12

“By the standards of humanity, we were exceedingly ugly that excited in them abhorrence and the ost terrible rage. Although, were as much human as those who lived in the open, we did not wish to offend, and so we hid ourselves away.”
“Innocence” Dean Koontz, Page 8

I look through the port
At the approaching planet. “Tierra del Muerto”.
The “Land of Death”.

The sun peeks over the horizon
And vanishes.

There is no light below,
No sign of human habitation.
I have been gone far too long.

Slamming into the Earth
At a crippling speed.
The Earth is screaming.

There is far too much light?
Sunset? No. An Apocalypse.

A cloud of death rises
Over the ocean. A mushroom
Of heat and fear. Inside
A bunker, I watch
The oncoming wave 
Of cloud. The oncoming dark.

10/12/13

Four brown geese flying low,
Autumn chill and wing tip flow.

Visions of freedom
Ring through my head,

So close to walking
Away from the dead.

Yearning for love
And a breath of fresh air.

Away from the steel 
With nary a care.

With the buzzing of gates
My heart doth pound.

The prison
My prison, is no longer a sound.

A sound within the mind of the dead
I will finally sleep in a warm sheltered bed.s

Inside I’m crying. Outer tears only help for the moment but then the pressure rebuilds. I cry inside. Sometimes I’m fine; but that is because only for a moment (or a few hours or [rarely] days), I am able to turn it off. When all is quiet, when I listen to my music in the quiet time(s), my upwelling spring of salty, bitter water poisons the roots of my heart but poison or not, the plant that is my heat drinks it up until the plant becomes a toxic thing ay who touch it become(s) poisoned, also. I am and have been slowly dying for as long as I can remember, I suffer! No other word(s) for it. Inside, I am weeping but my face betrays me not. My eyes, however, are for all the world to see. S/he who has discerning eyes will see me for as I am. “A wretch like me”, a line in “amazing Grace” that I cannot sing without weeping openly. For I am a true wretch. My heart is either dying or dead. I beg for alleviation but it is not afford to me. I dress nice but a painted dead house is still a dead house. “Abandon hope all ye who enter here.” Your death at the hands of ROT is not my responsibility. You have been warned. Depression you say? Meds only mask the pain with whitewashed saccharinity. A whitewashed sepulcher. Because inside, I am. “You have so much to be happy about”, some say. Regardless, I am living in chains. I forged the link by link, yard by yard, by the way I lived in life. What does life hold for me now? I don’t know.

I feel a great darkness,
A void full of all emptiness.
My god loves me and still I weep.
“Be filled”, says the book.
“Be filled” with what?
Filled with sorrow and anger.
I know nothing but suffering.
I wish for mercy.
My life is a prison stay.
A life of solitary confinement.
There is no reprieve.
I know only hatred and misery.
Chains of coal and slag.
I know naught but pain.
Bring me a glimmer, my God.
I cannot bear the darkness.
My name is Promethius.
The crow hungers for my flesh.
The gods can be cruel.
People can be worse.
What have I done to merit such a curse?
Is there no cure, no happily ever after?
No such thing as Unconditional Love?
No hope? No mercy?

God’s gaze in singing slanted sunbeams.
Butterflies not telling lies in sugar daydreams.
Whispering trees filled with bees,
And winds that sing a song.
Cotton rain and books by Mark Twain.
Firelight to keep me warm 
And a summer sky before the storm.
Simple pleasures come and go,
Like angels melted into snow.
People scurry to and fro.
This is something few will know.
Count your blessings day by day 
For simple comes like solar rays.

06/09/12

I am a shadow, hiding in shadows,
Longing for substance, to know
What it is to be human.

I see beauty in all its forms,
But I cannot touch this
For I am shadow
And beauty is in light only.

I have seen things you can not
Possibly imagine and yet I weep
For the beauty I shall never know.
Beauty in darkness that craves the light,
Wishing for eyes of green to look upon me.

To wake in sunlight from windows
Of the soul and the Holy light of Sol.
To see the eyes of another
Look upon you as sacred.

The deformity you call yourself
Rubbed as clay
Under a craftsman’s fingers.
To feel the soul of another
Is to never see the scars.

Regret is a cold blanket wrapped around me.
I see the memories shimmer before me.
Tasting the bitter tang of a corpse’s dream.
Smelling nothing but the acrid fumes of defeat.
It feels like a cold grave swallowing me.
A painting on my wall that refuses oblivion.
Shimmering like sunlight on a pool is watery floor.
I feel it in my skin, a living death.
The bones within age in a day, pain within
Pain without.
My eyes reflect only the chains I drag behind me.
What I see and have seen.
Who I’ve felt and forgotten only in dreams.
My smells are dead.
My tastes bring only glimmers of light.
My skin hurts, The perpetual burn of aching.
I touch nothing-King Midas and the withering rose.
Not gold but powdery ash.
Blown about by the wind.
To be spread into a forgotten oblivion.
And back into sleep.

Tears of blood and sodden ash,
Caress my face with braided lash.
My heart is broken, my soul is lost,
The iron gears so caked with frost.

I have lived a life of Hell,
Empty hallways at ringing bell.
My brain is miss-wired, my tongue in knots.
Who gets the freak? They’re drawing lots.

Hugging the wall, my soul takes root,
A wilted flower, never fruit,
A thousand choices, always wrong,
Iron bars and now they’re gone.

Ghostly phantoms hug my brain,
The bloody tears are such a drain.
Physical touch, my lightning rod.
Walking my path, I gave up on God.

Now my life is a Walking death,
Burning cinders in my breath.
My hope is like a single spark,
Where is my crucible to spark the dark?

Somewhere out there, a glowing face,
Light the chalice, break my haze.
Help me feel apart from Dead,
Your glowing heart the dead be fed.

Even the dead will rise again,
Light or darkness in the end.
Burning-red against the snow,
A kiss that saves me from below.

An open door and a burning hearth,
Better than graves in sodden earth.
Take my hand and pull me out,
To breathe in life, the Heaven Route.




11/18/14

Like dawn upon a battleground,
These halls of stone are silent.

A bell that rings,
A call to arms,
The movement of the tide is violent.

For four long years,
I’m swept aside,
The silence of the ghost.

You do not see,
I do not speak,
An unwilling, unworthy host.

Your own blood is meaningless,
The flies upon a bull.
You are naught but empty air.
A breach within the hull.

Life and death are all the same,
The specter in the reeds.
Empty graves and hollow tomb,
A Powder in the weeds.

I shall transcend and move away,
The journey to Shangri-La.
I heed the call to eternal bliss,
A diamond with no flaw.

With no blood to call my own, 
No peer to heed the call,
I turn my cheek to my broken home,
No pride before the fall.

I have spent my days among the dead,
The silence of the damned.
I walk the halls of antiquity
No one to take my hand.

I have seen no holy light,
No salvation in the dark.
Love is death without a fight,
Death without a mark.

You will say, “Beloved, come away”,
But love is death and false.
Love has no meaning for the damned,
In these quiet, lonely halls.

04/08/12

“Sorrow is not a raven perched persistently above a chamber door. Sorrow is a thing with teeth, and while in time it retreats, it comes back at the whisper of its name.”
“The Good Guy”
Dean Koontz

Your death in my arms arrives on swift wings.
Light leaves your eyes like the dying embers of
A holy flame.
You are cold and lifeless, soul-less.
The funhouse mirrors shatter from a shockwave 
Of Death and Fury. Hellfire licks my skin,
My eyes are pools of darkness. I spill
My agony to the four winds, my voice 
The legions of the damned. I am Cthulu,
Destroyer of Worlds.
From the highest mountain, I look down
On the Kingdoms of darkness you lovingly call
Your home. I bring a smog of suffering,
A Great Tribulation. Enjoy the light while you 
Can. You suffer because I suffer.

The Stone.
It is not the stone that breaks down
But myself…and my mind…that wraps…around…the stone.
My perceptions of the real.
And the unreal.
Dorothy dances on the ceiling,
And my mind is numb.
My mind. A rock?
Mayhaps. A Mishap
It sits topsy-turvy.
My eyes roll to look within.
To see the cats hanging from peeling plaster walls.
Birds building nests behind the unseeing eyes.
The mind bends but rarely breaks
The stone?
It is witness. Ever silent. 
Eternal.

At dusk, I enter the carnival
To the smell of gasoline and cheddar.
The roar of the generators
Play harmony to the screams
Of those on the flailing machinery.
Saccharine cotton candy, leering carnies,
Pitchmen make car salesmen look like librarians.
I can smell the odor of burning buttered popcorn,
Exhaust fumes and the rumble of the carnival
Plays in my chest like a mighty speaker.
People laugh and holler, the Ferris wheel
Spins people into neon ecstasy
And my mouth and fingers taste of salt.
Step up and ring the bell; win a great toy!
Be a man, ring the bell, be a man!
Bumper car whiplash! Swing your partner,
Round and round we go!
Sorry, not insured!
The bearded lady, biggest pig ever!
The freak show.
Tripping the light fantastic 
With the lizard man.
Back home, I bath, the smell,
The reek of human consumption
Spilling from me, the sweet ambrosia
Of pure American grease.

11/08/14

This is my garden without windows or doors
I am only like all the rest, a plant.
Time has no memory here. A stillness that’s deafening.

I can feel tiny tendrils, poking at me
Slowly encasing me in a cocoon of eternity
To be one with the garden
As timeless of the Plants I now inhabit
To watch forever as the Earth wages its war and again.

A kiss of wind on my face
I sway like a willow, and back
Movement of a perpetual dance
The wind comes again.

The crickle-crackle of tendrils
As I sleep eternal
Peace…now and sleep…now
Now and forevermore.

Elastic dough of eggshell white,
I pummel with fists of fury.
The dough hook spins the wares and woes
Of any who have come before me.
To pile the raw foundations into the great 
machine that will burn to a golden brown.
I will raise the ship of fools
To sail the eternal sea.
All I know is the formation of food,
The spinning of the hook.
My fury is cast into the mixing bowl
To rise as a burning bird.

For the emerald isle my heart doth yearn.
The smokestack sky the spirit spurns.
Born to blood in stranger lands.
I feel the filth within my hands.

Why must I chase the clouded dreams
Of skin the clings to hollow screams?
You pull away the fishing lure
To rip the soul from shattered core.

I hate the tempter bound by sea
The emerald screams I forever flee.
These foreign lands are not my own.
The rain-soaked lands I wish were home.

Creaking timber, tar and steel.
Mother ocean does not feel
The souls of man that crawl the earth
Like soul-less ashes in the hearth.

“We hold each-other hostage to our eccentricities” I smiled again, an unseen smile. “We’re made for each-other.”
“Innocence” Dean Koontz, Page 52

I hate this block, this prison, this world.
People who, for whatever reason, sling insults or
Make fun of others who are not your friends and
Who have done nothing to deserve it.
I wish to scream, yell and rage at the people in
The world who hurt or upset me.
I want to make you beg for your life.
I want to bring suffering into the world.
The Devil’s got nothing on me.
I despise all who ever knew me as a faggot,
An outcast, a freak.
I would cast you to the farthest reaches
Of existence. The coldest depths of space.
I hate that I live in a living graveyard.
I live but am forgotten.
I hate that those who call me family
Treat me as less than.
I hate those who walk around like
Cattle, not knowing true evil.
I hate the world and wish to watch it burn.
03/18/12

My anger is like a busy hive.
It is constantly buzzing.
At time, it’s quieter or louder.
My rage is like a wasp who stings.
The wasp that stings without fear or
Concern for itself.
I wish to bring my wrath upon those 
Whom I see as wicked.
A simple prod sets the hive into motion.
A cloud of fury and Death.
You drop into oblivion,
Buzzing in your ears.
03/18/12

For two days, every weekend, I go to see my father.
For two days, my dog does not leave my bed
Except to go out or eat.
For ten years, he has slept next to my door,
Watched me mow the lawn and cry.
Every day, he sat by me and never left.
I yelled, I screamed.
I even hit him once.
He only loved me more.
His kisses were gold.
Now, his ashes sit on my shelf.
An alter to greatness.

05/27/12

The yearning in my heart doth taste
Sour whiteness; bitter paste.

Touch my face, my skin ignites.
With a kiss, my heart ignites.

In your orbit, a slanted plane,
With your fingers through my mane,

Caress my face from crown to chin;
Wake me up with pointed pin.

So I sleep this dream a farce?
Or is it precursor to something worse?

Touch of fingers, my food and drink;
Discerning eyes from which I shrink.

Heart a ’racing; a mighty steed.
Spur me further, whippy reed.

Reed of silver, molten gold,
Tender finger, smile stole.

See your face within the stone,
Dripping love-struck, honey comb.

Walk the walls and feel the flame,
In your orbit, a slanted plane.

Feel the smile, a lover’s kiss,
That once in death forever miss.
11/15/14

Welcome to the rat race.
Running a maze looking for cheese.
It doesn’t exist.
We’re all looking for our place
Among the vermin.
So many times, we evaded capture
Only to end up on a cage of
Our own design.
Sooner or later, we’ll end up in the 
Wrong cage and the cheese will
Be poisonous.
What will you do now?
What will you do now that you thought
You were smarter than the cat?
We must evolve from vermin to Valhala.
03/18/12

Looking for food.
Always looking for food.
Or digging.
Or building.
Oh, Look! A large piece of food!
My queen will love this!
It is red and white, striped and tasty!
I grab a piece with my mighty jaws.
Back and forth I lead my brothers. A huge shadow. I run away.
Something furry, and smelly, smelling us.
Now it’s dark and warm and moist.
I will climb my way out.
I will bite and chew.
05/27/12

I, the prisoner, long for the smallest drop
Of water, the thinnest ray of light but
Instead I lay among the damned, eternal
Suffering my wages, the weeping of millions
The song of time. You see the beauty, the statue
Of David, but you play the fool for this is
Ashes forever entombed in a façade of weak
Plaster cast. I wish for winter to turn to 
Spring, for the seedlings to be born of ice and
Snow. I wish for the life-giving light to bring
Forth all that is holy. All is predestined.
We are fools to ask for more. Death will
Come on swift wings, I know not the path
Through the dark forest for there is no light.
I lack the grace or the wisdom to see 
The pathway ahead of me. There is no ivory
Tower, no eye of God, no eternal life.
I have paved the road with the blood of the 
Innocent and the tears of the worthy. I have
Torn the eyes from my head & I cannot see 
My way from Gahenna, the burning pits of
Suffering. I shall stumble and fall. An eternal
Wanderer of the wasteland.
Remove my cursed existence. Cast
Me into the furnace. Commence my judgement.

She spreads here fingers
And a burning fever sweeps my floor.
My alarm clock
Is a slap in the face.

Her smiling face is overwhelming.
The whales seek the oceans of ice.
The lizards scurry over a rock
Warming themselves with fire and whiskey.

A tuba and a bullhead 
Burned to a golden brown.
Metal music frames the bowl,
The race across the floor.

Welcome to the harbor 
That holds birds but no ship.
The needle of the weaver
The sentinel of Death.

The trees that whisper
The secrets of the world.
Dead horses drink from green rivers,
And bees dig for precious stones.

The burning bird, it sings a song,
The birds of mourning, they fill my yard.
The dutchman’s purse is hidden still.
I seek the gold of natives.

Deep within the mental chamber
Far away from inner anger
Lies the seed of crimson hope
The sleeping thing that helps me cope.

Far and away and yet so near
Is that which will calm my fears.
Gentle hands and piercing eyes
Grow the seed in soil lies.

A life of strife and debauchery
Earns me pain of which I flee.
I look at them and look away.
Within the chamber I will stay.

Within the chamber out of sight.
Outer darkness without light.
Without love or gentle touch.
By my sins, I give up much.

My punishment is justified.
Found guilty, I was tried.
Jar of hearts and bloody tears.
My heart in glass encased for years.

Living lies and smashing love
Every touch was not enough.
Taking much and giving nothing back.
Tally marks atop a stack.

So in pain I live alone
Darkest chamber where I groan.
Hearts of ash on cinder walls
In my head, the ghost will call.

Justice divine, the girl is gone.
Away to Summerland where she belongs.
And so I wander the Earth in vain.
Trying to love and feel again.

My punishment is justified.
My burning heart in oil fried.
I wander the Earth my heart in vain,
To know I will never feel again
The love that removes a burning stain.

11/08/14

“If a man is a beast, he’s a beast in his heart, and that’s not the kind of heart that beats in you.”
“Innocence” Dean Koontz, Page 59

How do you describe a Rottweiler?
Big, sloppy, and stupid would be a good start.
You ever look one in the eye?
The Macintosh burned out killing the hamster.
The only other comparison would be the Cleveland Browns.

05/27/12

How many times have I seen worlds of chaos?
How many times have I dripped the poison of
Many into my veins as bionic butterflies
And acid-addicted antelope run and frolick?
I relish my days among the sugar-sweet slurry
Slag.
A squirrel sits on my knee. How big your teeth are,
Little squirrel. Are you nuts, also?
Waterfalls of sugar cane turn to a quagmire of
Molten lead. The squirrel becomes a nightmare.
I turn and try to run away “come and play”,
Say the singing fish. “Don’t run away”, sys
The deer.
I crawl into my hidey hole and embrace my
Carnal fear.
03/17/12

“I was capable of love, but I lived in solitude after father died. Therefore, I loved only the precious dead, and books, and the moments of great beauty with which the city surprised me from tie to time, as I pushed through it in utmost secrecy.
For instance, sometimes on clear nights, in the solemn hour when most of the city sleeps when the cleaning crews are finished and the high-rises darkle until dawn, the stars come out. They are not as bright over this metropolis as they must be over a Kansas plain or a Colorado mountain but they still shine as if there is a city in the sky, an enchanting place where I could walk the streets with no fear of fire, where I could find someone to love, who would love me.
Here, when I was seen, my capacity for love earned me no mercy. Quite the opposite. When they saw me, men and women alive recoiled but their fear quickly gave way to fury. I would not harm them to defend myself, and I remained therefore defenseless.”
“Innocence”, Dean Koontz, Page 6

“Perhaps those who lived in the open would have found the idea of an invisible world too fanciful and would have dismisses the notion.
Those of us who remain hidden from everyone else, however, know that this world is wondrous and filled with mysteries. We possess no magical perception, no psychic insight. I believe our recognition of reality’s complex dimensions in a consequence of our solitude.
To live in the city of crowds and traffic and constant noise, to be always striving, to be in the ceaseless competition for money and status and power, perhaps distracted the mind until it could no longer see and forgot the all that that is. Or may be, because of the pace and pressure of that life, sanity depended on blinding oneself to the manifold miracles, astonishments, wonders, and enigmas that comprised the true world.
When I said ‘those of us who remain hidden’, I should have instead have said ‘I who am hidden.’ As far as I was aware, no other like me existed in that metropolis. I had lived along for a long time.
For twelve years, I shared this deep redoubt with Father. He died six years earlier. I loved him. I missed him every day. I was now twenty-six, with perhaps a long, lonely life ahead of me.”
“Innocence” Dean Koontz, Page 7

For as long as I can remember,
I have wandered the world,
Crawling from port to port,
Bed to bed. Alleyways to doorways.
But, my ship is a jewel. 
I carry the scars and scratches
Of countless dockings.
Of infinite moons seen by jaded eyes.
The winds have carried me
Into the life of Odysseus.
My brood of swine squealing
Their cried of desperation.
The storms and infinite days
The oblivion,
They have weathered my true face,
The one behind my eyes,
The eyes of beauty you see
In the faded mirror.
Dorian Grey is my name
Though no artist will dare 
Paint my face.
And so Odysseus again and again
Leaves my cursed shore
To sail into the infinite sea
That comes and goes with the tides.
As does the memory of a thousand years filled with
The tears of swine. 
I envy you and your smile,
Your love you share with the worthy.
Envy I exact on the shards of mirror
That litter my floor like shells
Of the long dead, I can’t remember.
The glass reaches my ankles
And now my knees.
Only climbing a mountain
To grab into a flower worthy of
Being plucked from the mountain slopes.
And so I shall flourish in the rains 
Of a sun-filled cloudy day.

My mind is a snarling fog of infernal rage.
The temples built within echo the ghostly chants of the long-dead.
The fires breathe with the breath of what is unseen.
The rocks glow with the heat of the primordial.
The fire-dancer spins and spins for evermore.
Wander the mazes of flickering light
The gates close with the turning of the gears.
Mighty crags and canyons consume, as the soul
May wander with unquenchable thirst.
A thirst for what will never be seen.
For what will never be seen by any
But the eyes of the external.
Behold the funhouse of fire.
The fog of the blind and the deaf.
I seek the Master Key that unlocks the door.
I will do battle with the Leviathan that rules this mighty fortress.
But the keys to every door are spread like sand
And I have not the will to open the chests
Of rotten oak that crumble at the lightest touch.
The fire-dancer spins and spins to block he way to mercy.
I wish to pull the core from the hypno-beast.
The whump-whump-whump of the flaming 
Revolutions drive me to madness.
I beat y head against the rocks to drive
Out the madness invading me like a parasite
Cancer.
Your mocking grin stokes the fires of
My rage, dancer.
I close my eyes and allows chains of
Obsidian to pull me into the burning Earth.
To be swallowed by that which consumes me.
I am the Great Abomination.
The Demon of Infernal Rage.

“It is a tiny thing to have your face touched. Isn’t it?
But think again of the burnt and unbeloved beasts of the world.
Think about the people whose skin cannot remember affection.”
-The Gargoyle

“Certum est quia impossibile est”
(“It is certain because it is impossible.”)
“Quod me nutrit, me destruit”
(“That which nourishes me also destroys me.”)
-The Gargoyle

“Alles brennt wenn die flame nur heifz genu gist.
Die Welt ist nichts al sein schmelztiegel”
(“Everything burns if the flame is hot enough.
The world is nothing but a crucible.”)
-The Gargoyle

“Asshole. Loser. Whiner. Addict. Demon. Monster. Devil. Fiend. Beast. Brute. Goblin. Has-been. Never-was. Never-will-be. Unloved. Unlovable. Un-person.”
-The Gargoyle

“I thought about Francesco working in the heat of his metal shop. I thought about Graziana eating pasts on her bubonic bed, just a little so that she would feel better. I thought about lovers in their time of dying. I tried to imagine being so thoroughly devoted that I would die for someone else; I, who found it difficult enough to live for myself. And then I tried to envision what might happen what I was finally released…”
-The Gargoyle

“Someday soon, you’ll walk out of here and have to decide how you’re going to live the rest of your lives. Will you be defined by what other people see, or by the essence of your soul?”
-The Gargoyle

“Du bist min, ich bin din: Des solt du gewis sin;
Du bist beslozzen in minnem herzen, verlorn ist daz sluzzelin:
Du muost och immer darinne sin.”
(“You are mine, I am yours: You may be sure of this;
You’ve been locked inside my heart, the key lost, thrown away:
Within it, you must always stay.”
-The Gargoyle

“Monstrum in fronte, Monstrum in animo”
(“Monster in face, Monster in soul.”
-The Gargoyle
“Death is no fearsome mystery
He is well known to you and me.
He hath no secret he can keep
To trouble any good man’s sleep.

Turn not thy face from death away.
Care not he takes our breath away.
Fear him not, he’s not thy master.
Rushing at thee, faster, faster.
Not thy master, but servant to
The Maker of thee, what or who
Created death, created thee-
And is the only Mystery.
-The Book of Counted Sorrows

“In the fields of life, a harvest
Sometimes comes far out of season
When we thought the Earth was old
And could see no earthly reason
To rise for work at break of dawn
And put our muscles to the test.
But winter here and autumn gone
It just seems best to rest, to rest.
But under winter fields so cold,
Wait the dormant seeds of seasons
Unborn and so the heart does hold
Hope that heals all bitter lesions
In the fields of life, a harvest.
-The Book of Counted Sorrows

Life without meaning
Cannot be borne.
We find a mission
To which we’re sworn
-or answer the call
Of Death’s dark horn.
Without a gleaning
Of purpose in life.
We have no vision,
We live in strife,
-or let blood fall
On a suicide knife.
-The Book of Counted Sorrows
Nowhere can a secret keep
Always secret, dark and deep,
Half so well as in the past
Buried deep to last, to last.

Keep it in your own dark heart
Otherwise the rumors start.

After many years have buried
Secrets over which you worried
No confidant can then betray
All the words you didn’t say.

Only you can then exhume
Secrets safe within the tomb
Of memory, of memory.
-The Book of Counted Sorrows

To see what we have never seen
To be what we have never been
To shed the chrysalis and fly,
Depart the earth, kiss the sky,
To be reborn, be someone new
Is this a dram or is it true?

Can our future be cleanly shorn
From a life to which we’re born?
In each of us a creature free-
Or trapped at birth by destiny?
Pity those who believe the latter.
Without freedom, nothing matters.
-The Book of Counted Sorrows

Love 
As quoted from “How To” by Augusten Burroughs

Love doesn’t use a fist.
Love never calls you fat or lazy or ugly.
Love doesn’t laugh at you in front of friends.
It is not in love’s self-interest for your self-esteem to be low.
Love is a helium-based emotion; Love always takes the high road.
Love does not make you beg.
Love does not make you deposit your paycheck into its bank account.
Love certainly never, never, never brings the children into it.
Love does not ask or even want you to change. But if you change, love is as excited about this change as you are if not more so. And if you go back to the way you were before you changed, love will go back with you. 
Love does not maintain a list of your flaws and weaknesses.
Love believes you.
Love is patient; Love does not make a point of showing you how patient it is. It is critical to understand the distinction. But when you see on the face of your partner or spouse an expression that reads, “I’m being very patient with you,” this could be the single detail that alerts you to the fact that you are in an abusive relationship. So patience is exhibited only by a lack of pressure. This is how you know it’s there. Patience is like donating a large sum of money anonymously.
What matters you to as the donor is that the charity receives the funding, not who wrote the check, even if knowing who wrote the check would wildly impress the world.

Walking Anguish
Waking up, another day
Is not a blessing.
The future rolls forward
But my body is tuck on pause.

A love virgin, Eros,
Nothing to be proud of.
Plenty have loved me,
I have loved none.

Love stories and movies
A love/hate/yearning romance.
A waking death,
A walking anguish.

Perpetually dying
Without the close.
The curtain never falls,
The tail-eating snake.

I grow weary of this dance.
The sun taunting me.
The moon as lonely as I,
Her kiss immaterial.

She kisses me in the night,
In lieu of she who I have not
To kiss me with moon and rain,
The smell of blossoms and youth.
She who is not,
Is.
Is there, a phantom conjured;
A prophecy summoned from home 
And desperation. And love-starvation.

I, who have never loved,
Starve for the love of another,
My heart dying with every beat.
The perpetual dying, slow in coming.

I wish I knew nothing.
For waking anguish is walking death.
10/06/14

Illusions
This pathway I did choose in haste,
With inner sickness my soul doth waste.
Chains of lead cast as my feet,
The poison bile I’m forced to eat.

There is no crow knocking at my door.
There is no crow, quoth “never more”.
My hopes are like the shining sun,
Darkness cloud and sun is done.

The curving steel, the silent eye,
Wings from my spine, I yearn to fly.
Fly from here, the septic world,
Sun on my face and peace unfurled.

People brown, white, yellow, red,
Insidious hate and legion dead.
No more a world of green and light,
A world instead of human might.

Bodies stacked to make a wall.
The screaming children in moments fall,
At the feet of their wailing kin
To share the cup of human sin.

The human heart has turned to ask,
Away from God to their own path.
Bombs that fall and vaporize
All that stands and all that cries.

The land is now a barren rock,
The ocean an acid tide of rot.
The world is a planet of perpetual war,
Where all who live will grasp for more.

The human heart is never sated,
The final judgment is awaited.
You think you’re safe, the death’s not here.
But in time, it’s crystal clear.

Hide in plain sight and close your eyes
The truth will always evade your lies.
War and sickness are the humans’ lot.
Not gold and silver for what we fought.

A tide of blood laps at your door.
You think you’re safe quoth “never more”.
The crow is knocking at your door.
SO what are we really fighting for?

“Disobedience brought time into the world so that lives could thereafter be measured to an end. Then Cain murdered Abel, and there was yet another new thing in the world, the power to control others by threat and menace, the power to cut short their stories and rule by fear, where upon death that was a grace and a welcoming into a life without tears became no longer sacred in itself, but a blunt weapon of crude men. And though the blood of Abel had once cried out from the Earth, we had come now to a time when so much blood had been spilled over the millennia, that the throat of the Earth was clotted and choked , and fresh blood could not raise a voice from it.”
“Innocence”, Dean Koontz, PG 324, Lines 4-13

“Remember me when I am gone away.
Gone far away into the silent land.”
“Remember”, 
Christina Rossetti

“Can I see another’s woe, and not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another’s grief, and not seek for kind relief?”
“On Another’s Sorrow”
William Blake

“The fallow soil of loneliness is fertile ground for self-deception.”
“Innocence”, Dean Koontz,
Page 316, Lines 21-22

“In every way,” she said, “You are so beautiful and you will be beautiful forever.”
“Innocence”

“Overcome by wonder, I kisses the corner of her mouth, where the bead had been and the nose from where the serpent ring had hung, and her eyes that no longer needed be concealed from a hostile world, and her brow behind which she lived and hoped and dreamed and knew God and loved me.”
“Innocence”, Dean Koontz, 
Page 316, Lines 21-22 and 23, 27.

Your voice the ambrosial hum of butterfly
Wings against the silk of my spirit.
I can feel your soul.
It is blue. Like a robin’s egg.
Your smile is like a ray of sunlight in the midst
Of a blizzard when God’s eyes are blind.
Your touch is like the sunlight in a rain storm.
And yet I’ve never met you.
I see you on every street corner.
I see you in every car.
My heart is filled with hardened jade.
I have no chisel or hammer.
I want to wake to living sunlight
But there is only clouds in my sky.
What is love for someone who knows
Nothing but shadowy unfullfillment?
Mine eyes reveal the only candle in
A darkened northern waste.
Eyes of green algae in a lake of 
Death where my soul shall forever drown.
I am the Angel of Death fallen
To witness the Destruction of
Earth. 
To witness the human shades.

Aggressive, not assertive.
Impatient, not long-suffering.
Judgmental.
Snide.
Pessimistic
Rough edges.
An abstract.
A Picasso of mentality.
I feel…unhealthy…abnormal.
What’s wrong with me?
Why am I…however I am?
A foreigner…alien among my own species.
A life of spatial detachment.
I do not belong.
My self. It requires someone discerning.
But thus far, I feel anger
And aggressive hate.
Do you think you can do better?
You who presume to smirk at me?
The alien? The clown?
Why must I live
When all I ever wanted was life 
Normal?

Pawn to c4 is all it takes,
The game comes to like with a risk.
Every move in 26 years,
Control with an iron fist.

White then black,
An eternal game,
A battle of minds.

I dance the dance
That animals dance
There are not that many kinds.

Here my sins outweigh my wants,
But my wants are never few.
With a cautious mind,
I steal a piece,
Another pound to add to the stew.

In the end I lose my queen,
It comes to a screeching halt.
When you lose your precious head,
You’ll know it is all your fault.
05/01/12

Your name is an enigma.
A quest for the grail.
The platinum chalice.

Like a mirage on the sand,
Your eyes are forever with me.
Pools of darkness to drown the souls of man.

I have traveled the world
Searching for the Grail.
I have seen many who hold no spark.

You are a queen, a might God.
I would follow you to the end of time.
I know not your face. I know your heart.
I have sought you for a lifetime.

My soul merges with yours.
My destiny is your own.
When will I receive
My just reprieve?
Do you seek me also?
Do you see the path of god?

I feel a great darkness,
A void full of all emptiness.
My god loves me and still I weep.
“Be filled”, says the book.
“Be filled” with what?
Filled with sorrow and anger.
I know nothing but suffering.
I wish for mercy.
My life is a prison stay.
A life of solitary confinement.
There is no reprieve.
I know only hatred and misery.
Chains of coal and slag.
I know naught but pain.
Bring me a glimmer, my God.
I cannot bear the darkness.
My name is Promethius.
The crow hungers for my flesh.
The gods can be cruel.
People can be worse.
What have I done to merit such a curse?
Is there no cure, no happily ever after?
No such thing as Unconditional Love?
No hope? No mercy?

What have I been missing?
Humor, light and another’s love?
And the love of self in selfless love.
Why do I perpetually weave seeds
Of poison vine
Through the skins of my crimson heart
Top fill with death the empty chambers of fear?
Why do I paint in bright colors & bead 
The shell of a spoiled fruit that is black
And the toxins permeate all that it touches?
Pity & fear.
They prevent the apple or the pear
From being what is truly sacred:
An alter to the beauty of the world
And an open window to the souls of light.

Doorways and neon
Beds not my own.
A shadow that’s moving
With freedom on loan.

Begging for scraps
And riding the state.
Sleeping in garbage
With meth on my plate.

Parasite, virus, despicable cur.
Breaking up families and
Causing a stir.

Sleeping in rainstorms,
A friend at my back.
A warm living blanket
Of which I now lack.

Walls of stone and 
Windows of ice
Monotony sunlight and
Sickening vice.

Simple pleasures
That keep me alive.
Singing me ballads 
Until I arrive.

An invisible lifeline and 
Windows of glass.
Shoveling snow
Is a pain in my ass.

Six years in chains
Leaves a hole in my gut.
Living in graveyards 
Keeps me stuck in a rut.

Storms clouds built up
Of purple and red.
Spare the Earth
Strike me instead.

Vermin that run
Up the walls of my cell.
Closing your eyes
Will not work in this hell.

Sing of the light
That beaks through the clouds.
Keep to the righteous
That ward off the crowds.

Hear the music
That sings to the soul.
I’ll give you a shovel
To dig out your hole.

06/07/12

06/09/12

I am a shadow, hiding in shadows,
Longing for substance, to know
What it is to be human.

I see beauty in all its forms,
But I cannot touch this
For I am shadow
And beauty is in light only.

I have seen things you can not
Possibly imagine and yet I weep
For the beauty I shall never know.
Beauty in darkness that craves the light,
Wishing for eyes of green to look upon me.

To wake in sunlight from windows
Of the soul and the Holy light of Sol.
To see the eyes of another
Look upon you as sacred.

The deformity you call yourself
Rubbed as clay
Under a craftsman’s fingers.
To feel the soul of another
Is to never see the scars.

In a rat hole, thrice infected
In a sewer, twice expected,
A stranger’s scorn, always inspected,
A disgusted sneer that I elected,
To live in rat holes I infected.

11/28/14

Doorways and neon
Beds not my own.
A shadow that’s moving
With freedom on loan.

Begging for scraps
And riding the state.
Sleeping in garbage
With meth on my plate.

Parasite, virus, despicable cur.
Breaking up families and
Causing a stir.

Sleeping in rainstorms,
A friend at my back.
A warm living blanket
Of which I now lack.

Walls of stone and 
Windows of ice
Monotony sunlight and
Sickening vice.

Simple pleasures
That keep me alive.
Singing me ballads 
Until I arrive.

An invisible lifeline and 
Windows of glass.
Shoveling snow
Is a pain in my ass.

Six years in chains
Leaves a hole in my gut.
Living in graveyards 
Keeps me stuck in a rut.

Storms clouds built up
Of purple and red.
Spare the Earth
Strike me instead.

Vermin that run
Up the walls of my cell.
Closing your eyes
Will not work in this hell.

Sing of the light
That beaks through the clouds.
Keep to the righteous
That ward off the crowds.

Hear the music
That sings to the soul.
I’ll give you a shovel
To dig out your hole.

06/07/12

As for your child, I don’t recommend this, a small and fluffy dog.
With brains far too thick, too lazy for sticks, they tend to eat like a hog.
They’ll give you a bath, after blazing a path, through the cats that piss on your stoop.
Puking on rugs after eating the bugs that come out in his liquefied poop.
Please don’t mock when he eats all that chalk that come out in little white bombs.
Stepping around all the crap on the ground like snow all over your lawn.
So keep this in mind whenever you find your child asking for this.
The bombs in the house, the crapped out mouse and your yard smelling like piss.

05/27/12