the death of the midwest's blog: "Poetry"

Insanity looms inside the looking glass. It's like a madness stuck on repeat, and I'm lost in the progression! I wonder, what's under the scar tissue? A rollercoaster I've rode too many times. Can I stomach one more go? Today, the black birds lied to me again, mocking me as the wind waged war with my face. All I look foward to is cancer. The cold taste of the grim reaper's porcelin lips. All this talk of the end; are we really pushed to oblivion? His hand is so close, at times I can see his thumbnail. The foot may bring luck, but beware of the hole! is this the dwelling of misfortune? The numbers now haunt me. The worst feeling from the most perfect melody. She gave me the perfect present, with a note that read, "It's yours, at my convience!" The letters drained into a pool of rubies. So close to completion of this creature I'm becoming. How will I handle the pain of burning wings? Smearing a grain of salt into the wound will act as my pain killer. She trembles from the quake, unaware of the richtorscale. TBC...

The nephilim rides through the night's skies. Alone again! No more winter tales. The land will never see snow again. The scenery depicts an image of sullen despair. Upon his wings, a message is scarred into the flesh. Will the fire ever burn as birghtly as it once did? Only the rabbit knows! Time stands still, as if the watchkeeper vacated to a warmer climate. I see now, that all the words I wrote never meant anything! How can the poet survive without the inspiration from his toxic lullabye? He can't; she knows this, but does she even care? Seven months must pass until the artist can breathe new life. So small, insignificant; yet I won't be able to hide the pain from this catastrophic relation. I try to dream in a prism of roses, but only creatures stir deep in the grey matter. This haunts me, more than she knows. Time to rebuild the walls. Closed off from the outside world. My eyes scream in the twilight, with hopes that the sound will shake the stars. Here I stand, at the end of the road, that curves into a shallow tomb. Could this death be that easy? Murder by the heart's affection! The curtains have finally closed on the Hollywood Lie. Show's over!!