The Dark In The Words.

Here's some writing I do because I don't care to explain why. Enjoy or don't, to be honest that isn't too much my affair.

[humilination]

Corner Five.

It's interesting, whenever lusted, wonder,

Seems to evade my always reaching hands.

I can't assume to be from foreign lands,

If all I do is this sad planet wander.

I kill myself each day to feel alive.

However patient, I am always quick.

I run from people, yet we always click.

I'm stuck within the depths of corner five.

[humilination]

Suffocate.

The dance went to the side, I feel.

I sense in you a heart of steel.

I know no mercy, yet again,

I prey on souls of evil men.

The night has taught me things today,

And now is showing me the way.

I don't complain, I merely wait.

No soul can stand to suffocate.

[humilination]

Summer Visions.

Summer visions come to me, Like the serpent, in the trees. Leaves of wonder fall and dry. People sin, then people die.

[humilination]

Make Due!

I’d kiss and skip a pair or two of golden lips. I’d piss and miss on bridges burnt to fish and chips. The drip makes numb my lips, my blood here, take a sip. My Aphrodite, Orion, Artemis, my hunting rocket ships!

The burgers those who hate us dip and flip, the dogs that nip. The scheme cowers from the rhyme switch in this hour. I can afford to shower power to the land of milk and flour. In ambrosia we shall trust, a flower in the middle of a landing strip.

God gracious, euthanasia basics, alchemy, erasing,  Pacing to the floors of schools I used to whore like poison pools. A spider or a scorpion? A Schindler? A Kevorkian? Cool, Diamonds were forever when forever was together-chasing. Criminals of law and order, herder’s sheep, go sheep the herder. Sleep bitch sleep, too deep in weeping. Heard her shouting out an order: “Make your mind or mind makes you! Go and find the road of true!” I replied: “Because of you, I will mind to just make due!”

[humilination]

The Banner I Hold.

I’m bashing the sea and its waves. The banner I hold always saves. The power of mind and of fate, Is excellent murder, my murderous mate!

[humilination]

Hung.

Just when evening breathes no more, Comes the day with gifts galore. Tents were taken down, instead, Graves were dug in winter's stead. Masters of recurring themes, Rest not in, yet in between. Some may say the night is young, I say all are better hung.

[humilination]

The Abyss.

Hey there sunshine, have you gone? In the shadow of a con, Grows a tree that brings no life. I am dreaming of a knife. I am dreaming of a gun, Shining in the setting sun. Love is yet another tale, Cover for the winter hale. I have written poems in snows, Rains and rays. The day must go. Next comes night, and then again, Heal the broken wills of men. They have healed, yet when they break, I ask questions. My mistake. Better blind than glimpsing this. Step away from the abyss.

[humilination]

Kidding.

Kidding should display a taste, For all sacks of human waste. Lime and tonic in some heat, Should suffice to take a seat. Once you taste the bars of life, Heaven is a snap away. Fate, no different from a knife, Leaves the humor in decay.

[humilination]

American Loser.

An American Loser is found in the creeps, When political circuits were running too deep. In the heart of a mind, in a fantasy cruiser, Were in sunglasses riding a couple of losers. This meant many a thing, but to every drug user: Be in love with yourself, not American Loser. Summer wine in our hearts, Hennessy in our veins, We, American Losers, are going insane.

[humilination]

Lonerland.

You’re all alone in Lonerland? Why, such a perfect realm! If you could take me by the hand, My honor, sword and helm?

[humilination]

The Joust.

Silent as a rotten mouse, Comes The Fucking Jester Joust! Flames of evil, sands of peace,  Freedom to the Fur Elise. Ancient as a soul in pain, Comes The Joust! The world is slain! Tingle, tangle, strangle, whores. Weep my maiden, weep some more. Happy as a child who’s blind, Jousts leave nobody behind! Come my precious, come my dear, Sit a little closer, here. Ever after, after all, Watch The Joust till winter, fall! Fall and rise as evening comes, To the beating of our drums.

[humilination]

The Gamble.

What is the gamble? Such questions often posed, Instead of concentrating on each other’s woes, We should hold hands, unite in cliche symbols. The monkey holds a sword, and not two cymbals. Indeed, posh language tossed a sec aside, We’ll go in for a fucking wild ride. We’re going to the cinders of our past, In seeking all the luck there is to last. Such masonry, as called in certain corners, Can come to us in decks of cards as warnings. The coroner had the ace of spades well cornered. I’m fire from sands beyond the ancient Jordan. “Hurrah!” Exclaims the joker in my deck. We are already at each other’s necks. The story told, your mind is but a stall, In stables, bathrooms, psych wards. That is all.

[humilination]

Over.

I knew the trees, in lights of different prisms. I knew a thousand better aphorisms. Now I am lost in sin... Just kidding, I am sober. My world is over. My world is over.

[humilination]

A Journey.

I have a wide span of attention in the next dimension, And I am lost in it - a symptom of adverse dementia. I’d hear the bees and birds scream to me from the trees, But it’s too beautiful to put god on his knees. This is a century, a decade having passed. We are a crematory - ashes made to last. No symbol carries what I knew to once be true, There is a journey to be feared in front of you. 

[humilination]

Dust and Miracles.

How does love turn all of us to stone? People of the River Styx, please hear me! Wouldn’t one who wants to be alone, Find his sins a far way off, not near me? Oh, how pure the dust on coffins! Miracles exist only inside. Careful friend, when for no reason coughing, Life is something you had on the side.

[humilination]

Candy.

Throwing stones in glass houses arouses. I’m a millionaire since my first thousand. Taste in women - all right. Morals - lousy. I’m a penthouse in subsidized housing. Candy pleases the six fucking senses. Every schmuck acts like he’s running Mensa. You’re all sell-outs like white picket fences. Ego death has been getting intensive. 

[humilination]

Closer to the Sun.

What knows no limits does exist. My hate is bloody as my fists. What has no soul still walks with me, Under the vintage apple tree. I can’t see more of pointless light, In lying tunnels shining bright. Have fathers now forsaken sons, For flying closer to the sun?