Porn and exile and fear and violence
Are part of us.
We eat guilt and remorse
Like bums eat their own vermin
We squirm and cut our wrists
Over one confession
Then go back to the street of shit
Believing we've forgiven and been forgiven.
Satan Triple-Master - cynic, money-hungry, pupil of
Lulls and quiets my enchanted spirit
Into nothing by this modern chemist.
The Devil moves the strings that move me
I find myself bored by the most boring things:
Every day I walk deeper into the city of hell
Without horror, past my ghosts that stink.
Just like some old man who gave up
And now chews a whore's pitted breast
Whenever I grab one pleasure
Out of boredom I crush it to death.
Packed together swarming-thronging-dead sardines
Demons're rotting in my brains.
Death's sitting in my lungs,
Dead river, sewage of complaints.
Abortions razors suicide viciousness
Haven't yet carved death into this self
Only because my heart's begging
For something else.
Among jackals panthers
Lice scorpions jellyfish vultures,
The urban menagerie of destruction-
There's one animal, mean and strong,
Who doesn't have grand gestures, doesn't scream.
He consciously turns this earth into debris
And swallows up reality with a yawn:
My boredom. As I beg for the sympathy I don't want,
I dream, and he dreams, of my own death.
Reader, you know this oversensitive monster,
Hypocritical reader - my mirror - my brother.
Sat in the oh so certain silence of delirium, spun out and left to sweat in the solitude of the come down, wired with static and electric blue TV screens, I lay down, close my eyes, and fall asleep...
Fall asleep and slip into the surreal musings of a sympathetic mind
Where my heavy metal mouth spits obscenity beyond design...
Where symbolism falls apart, and metaphors collapse
Reality ebbs away and the mundane becomes sublime...
Time and time again, I fall before I wake
Fall through introspection, ignoring my mistakes
Chemically embraced, I step into the twisted scenes
Sedate in the constraints of my own recurring dreams
Entangled in the prophetic snare of idiotic sentimentality
Flustered by the insane rhetoric of the emotive and the applied
With the expectations of complacence in all of our convictions
We're forced into unreason for a place where we can hide
What loss the world can offer me in the light of my maligned therapy
Succumb to apathy and drown in betrayal, time and time again...
Intravenous whispers and synthetic pleasure, vile absurdities of common cause
A vivid disection of the penance of the pitiless...
Fixated by oblivion that drives my obsession with futility...
I stop, I read, I write, I die alone, eating my words with my bloody hands.
Once upon a time
So long ago
The girl I knew
Was just that,
She still breathed
The air of innocence
Her heart still beat
To the rhythym of what she was,
And then one day
It was all swept away
Along with memories
Of what she used to be,
Her breathe became cold
As she learned the many truths
And her heart beat much slower
As she lost the identity,
And now the girl I knew
Is gone and lost
And so far away
All I see is that,
Yey! For a spare of the moment poem, I'm quite proud of that. What do you think?
Is it possible to look into another reality
While sitting around in the living room in mine,
Staring endlessly at my hands,
Hands that fold, shape, and carefully sculpt
Thin pieces of tissue paper,
Fragile as a single snow flake,
Transforming it's ugliness into a magnificent,
Preparing it to sail into the afterlife.
The same folds,
Along the same lines,
On every other sheet,
And there I am,
At my hands,
Dreaming where they are going,
Believing? No, my hands are the ones
That are doing the believing,
As each crease is completed,
And I'm there,
Waiting to try and finish.
Twentyfour tears from a dead angels eyes leak black onto the pillow where she lays her head, cracked and faded like an old china doll... Her memories stir through her lifeless corpse and a smile breaks her blue lips. "Not here", she says, then shes gone... The blood turns to ashes and a sense of loss prevails, a disembodied voice tells me "No one wins" and I accept this without question... A scream transcends reality and a thousnd mirrors smash, oblivion becomes truth and we all become lies... Perceptions alter and what was white becomes red, the innocents have seen this before, ask them... The spirit of perfection is alive here, offering her pale soft hand to the blinded men who beg for absolution from the eternity they suffer, beg for the real death that both she and I know can never be achieved... Turning to me she becomes stricken with infinity, aware of the aware, and I see that where her eyes once were bright, shining endless time, now theres only lascivious insanity... A wretched soul, bereft of the compassion she had promised, become a vessel for the souls of the souless only to be deprived her own... No sympathy for the dispossessed, the broken or the lonely... "You'll never be forgotten" She whispers in my ear, "You'll never be forgiven" She whispers in my head, "You'll never be allowed to die" She screams into my dreams... The sickness that destroys, the certainty of demise, the abject humiliation of being aware... Glass shards reflect the hollow, force the truth and expect all that can't be given for their troubles... "Follow the future" Cry the beggars from the eternal damnation that they bare, "Don't be afraid"... Tempted by temptation, tarnished by a scarlet imperfection that appeals to the wasters and the the wasted, I accept the offer and begin to fall... Into the mouth of redemption the burnt soar, ushered on by madness and contaminated with the sanity of the unquestioned... Abandoned by my guide, forsaken and left alone, smashed and broken by the bones of everyone I once loved... A spiteful laugh echos in a thousand recognisable voices that pivot and crash against the walls of this unfamiliar cell, filling it slowly with the hatred I already drown in... The demons appear then, reveal themselves finally, these hideous wraiths of illusion and disillusion who wear the shrouds of shadow that blanket every corner of every consciousness they've ever consumed... "See, you'll NEVER be forgiven", I hear her voice and believe for a moment I'm saved, "Never forget, never forgotten" she speaks so softly... Porcelain blades swing, cut me loose from the umbilical binds that have burnt and slit my wrists, pools of despair join the rush as it spills from my veins... Acceptance wins the war, an undisputed battle of attrition that I always knew I wouldn't win... I give in... The pleas of the suffering are once again ignored as my angel appears and blankets me in the warmth that only submission has to offer...
Not exactly a poem I know but I don't know what else to call it... I could probably do with some guidance... Anyway, hope you liked it...
Retro, in the sanctity of dogma and doctrine
Bullshit flows through your veins like amphetamine
Gunfire sounds when the vocal heat slips
The violent skys have made them fear their apocalypse
A fist in the face, take your place and stand clear
Entombed in the womb you can smell their fear
And when money passes over the battlefield like bullets
They repeat it like a mantra until the cap fits
And the brokers become breakers under corporate heights
And revolutions are run from business class flights
So we'll jam the cogs on the twelve gauge machine
The hardline socialites run shit behind the scenes
And for all the land owners that think that they're safe
And to all the world bankers who think they can make
We can shut you down in the blink of an eye
How many governors are willing to die
When shit kicked off, where were they then
Deep in the pockets of IBM
How deep are YOUR pockets? Did you pay for the rockets?
Look into my eyes set back deep in their sockets
The world keeps turning day by day
But if you've got the money I'm sure you could pay
With a wink and a nudge or a nod or a cough
To stop the world because you want to get off
But wheres the logic in that, except that you can
We'd all get a kick with that power in our hands
Click click bang another rebel lies
How can you have a voice with a hole in your head
Wake up motherfucker you can sway the vote
But for sleaze in the headlines or an exploding boat
Or they could sneak up behind you and slit your throat
Or inject you with a virus with no antidote
We can hang from a cross and die for our sins
But it won't stop us yearning for material things
No, our souls are as shallow as the pits where we'll die
Like the propaganda we read we're all full of lies
And when you look in my eyes you'll see those I despise
A reflection of me, the suburbanite spy...
Okay, firstly I need to point out that I wrote this when I was fifteen (back when I used to give a fuck), so hopefully I have an excuse for this immature and uninformed piece... I still quite like it though (and don't have the heart to edit it) and as I'm sure the more observant among you have already noticed, its also the poem I lifted my user name from... Anyway, it turns out that I have writers block... Of the thirty or so provisional opening lines I wrote down, not a single one inspired me to write a whole piece... HELP ME!!!!!